


Rhenegade

by Ishti



Category: Aveyond
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Aveyond 1, Aveyond: Rhen's Quest, Background Relationships, Found Family, Multi, Platonic Relationships, it's not a pirate AU... but it's a pirate AU.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2018-12-06 23:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 151,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11611431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti
Summary: Meet the new Rhen.  She's going to be making some big changes around this plot.





	1. Rhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In two timelines, the girl was captured and sold--but in one, she resisted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for teenage drinking.
> 
> Credit for the sprites pictured in the following chapters belongs to Aveyond Studios (original outfits and styling), RPG Maker (base sprites and resources), sithjester (original sprite elements), myself (Frankenspriting and recoloring), and iztopher (Frankenspriting).

Pollen. Everywhere. Rhen hated it.

Ma knew that Rhen had bad allergies in the spring. She made Rhen pick the marionbells anyway. “You’ll develop an immunity,” she said. “It builds character.”

There was temporary relief in the tunnel to the lower cliff. Rhen could easily have stepped through the stream to reach the last marionbell on the other side, but took the longer, underground route in a vain attempt to unclog her sinuses. Her face was red as autumn leaves. Rhen much preferred autumn, when she could gleefully watch as all the pollinic plants died.

Seasons were hardly on Rhen’s mind that evening. Just pollen, and the white-robed woman she’d pulled not an hour ago from inside a butterfly’s dream.

Rhen liked to read about fantasy realms and magical journeys. She usually had a book in her hip satchel when she went out to sit by the waterfall. Ma said that’s what made her so precocious. Rhen liked to think she was born a little sharper than the average bear, and the books just gave her something to imagine. Now, imagination was obsolete. Magic had come to Clearwater.

Idly, she did hope that the unfamiliar woman would be all right, but more than anything, she was curious. Pa had called this woman a “priestess”. The druid in Green Rock Temple was the closest thing to a “priestess” Rhen had ever seen. But beyond that—the woman came to her, _to her_ , Rhen. Whoever she was, she gave Rhen her mysterious, protective gift, not anyone else. The strange ring on Rhen’s finger glinted as she emerged from the cool passage into the fading sunlight.

Rhen was ugly-breathing through her mouth when she nearly collided with Peter on the edge of town. “Peter. Hi.”

“Hey, Rhen!” said Peter, beaming. “Excited for the festival tomorrow?”

Rhen sneezed.

“That’s what I thought. It’s getting dark. Want to walk home together?”

“Why not.” Rhen rolled her shoulders and glanced up the mountainside. The air was usually clearer up by the Darzons’ house. _I’ll only suffer a few minutes more._

In a sardonic imitation of chivalry, Peter plucked the flower basket from Rhen’s hand. They linked arms and marched up the carved stone stairs toward town.

Danny was eating his dinner in the town square by the bare maypole. Rhen noted his favorite orange sweater and an experimental part in his hair. He straightened his back and gave Rhen his best angle as she walked past.

She smiled at him. “Hey, Danny.”

Her face was turned away, but she could practically hear the smirk on Peter’s face.

“Hey, Rhen!" piped Danny. "Will I see you at the festival tomorrow?”

“Yes you will! Save some sweets for me.”

Rhen and Peter left Danny and his endearingly foolish grin by the maypole. “That guy is falling apples over you,” said Peter when they were out of earshot. “Have you kissed him yet?”

Rhen snorted. “No, I haven’t. Do you think I should?”

“Unless you plan on moving to Sedona and marrying a dashing young fromager, yeah, you should probably be nice to Danny. You like him, don’t you?”

Sighing from her chest, Rhen stopped walking and turned to look her best friend in the eyes. “Yeah. I do. If this was the life I dreamed of, I’d sweep him up without being asked twice. But, Peter, there’s a whole world out there! And now, I think it might have just landed on my doorstep, begging me to run away with it.”

“You think that woman is going to take you away into lands of unknown adventure?” There was gentle mockery in his tone. “Rhen, no offense to you or… books, but I think you read too many books.”

Rhen frowned. “I don’t know, Peter. If there are whole oceans and continents full of people and knowledge and stories, I just can’t believe that anyone’s whole life is meant to start and end in one tiny place.”

Peter said nothing, but took her hand and looked her in the eye with a rare, serious expression on his face. After a few seconds, Rhen met him with a sober smile, and they resumed their walk home in silence.

The house smelled of buttery roast pheasant and baked apples. Ma was pleased to see Rhen with the flowers—perhaps too pleased, Rhen thought, noting Ma’s exaggerated expressions and frantic gestures. _I’m not the only one excited by the stranger’s arrival._ Rhen took a bath, and then Pa braided her hair like he always did, and then she was immediately sent to bed. The priestess’ ring remained on her finger while she slept.

She awoke the next morning in the gently filtered sunshine, loose strands of wavy, purple hair sneaking out of her plait. After briefly considering unbraiding her hair and styling it up, she realized that she’d overslept. She slipped into her quickest skirt and blouse and prayed to Armaiti that there were some lavender cakes left over.

Very few families lived in Clearwater, and they all lived within spitting distance of one another. Each village celebration felt less like a big festival and more like a family reunion. Not that Rhen had attended many of either, of course. She’d certainly _read_ about parties.

Snatching a lavender cake from a brightly clothed table which she recognized from the general store, Rhen watched as Danny led the younger children in the maypole dance. It was beautiful this year. The ribbons were always the same ribbons as the year before, but Ma and Dyonna had arranged a stunning bouquet to droop from the top of the pole. Rhen saw the marionbells peeking out from the top and absently scratched her eyelid. She would have danced this year had she awoken on time. It would have been nice to show off her flowy, flouncy skirt for Danny.

Rhen scanned the crowd a few times, searching for Peter. He wasn’t near the maypole, the food, the drinks, the ring-toss, the skittles, the Nine Men’s Morris… if Peter would be anywhere at the festival, he’d be near the game of Nine Men’s Morris. _Wait_ _\--_ Rhen snapped back the beverage table. She noticed that one of the usual barrels was missing from the festival drinks. Dyonna’s gin.

_Wherever that barrel is, I’ll find Peter._

He certainly wasn’t further up the mountain, so Rhen slipped away from the celebration and took the southern stairs away from town. There he was by the edge of the evergreen trees, sitting atop the gin barrel, a glass in his hand and the spigot between his knees. He hooted and waved when he saw Rhen.

“Best frie-e-e-e-end! C’mere! We’re gonna have our own party, we’re gonna have so much fun. I, uh… I only got one glass, though. Ah-whoops!”

Rhen couldn’t suppress her laughter. Something nasty dripped in the back of her throat, and she choked and snorted. Peter guffawed at her then, and Rhen laughed more, and soon Rhen was cackling with her back resting against the barrel. Peter passed her the glass. She drank.

“Hey. Hey, Lavender. You know something?”

“I know a lot of somethings.”

“No, I mean, do you know the thing that I’m thinking of that I want to say.”

“No.”

“Okay. I think we’re growing up too fast.”

“Now I know something.”

“Rhen, listen, I’m serious. Our parents already started making us do real work, you know? We don’t just spend all day fooling around anymore. I’ve been feeling like I have to start thinking about things like… the future, or whatever. What decisions I’m gonna make.”

They drank in silence for a moment. Peter refilled the glass.

“I think you’re right,” said Rhen, just a little wobbly. “I think I’m not ready for that.”

“Yeah. Me, neither.”

More silence. A squirrel screamed from a nearby tree. Something funny happened above them at the festival, and the villagers laughed, muffled, distant.

“You wanna go chase some sheep?”

Rhen sat up, giggling. “Haven’t done that since… last year, have we?”

“Let’s do it. Let’s go chase Billy Harper’s sheep. I think we’ll feel better.”

Peter hopped off the barrel. Rhen stood up, carefully holding the glass steady. “Sure. Wait, what about the barrel and stuff?”

Peter shrugged.

“All right, you go ahead. I’ll meet you at the pasture after I put the gin back.”

“Aye aye! Catch you there.” Peter waved her off as he jogged away toward the tunnel.

As best she could, Rhen replaced the much lighter gin barrel without attracting attention. She shook the liquid out of the glass and placed it back on the beverage table. When all backs were turned, she hurried down the stairs to the passage away from town with a little extra jaunt in her step.

As grass gave way to mud and stone, Rhen’s eyes adjusted to the low light. Peter was surely far ahead already, but… there was someone standing in the passage just atop the shallow incline.

“Peter?”

She saw the figure turn, but he was barely visible. With resolve, she advanced toward the ledge.

“Hello!” Rhen heard the man’s voice before she reached him. He sounded friendly, but not in the same way as Dyonna or the village parents. His voice was soft and his words enunciated. Something about his tone was… _put on._ “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” said Rhen, too inquisitive to be cautious. Clearwater almost never had visitors. “The town is just to the west and up the mountain.”

“Good, good.” The man peered at Rhen’s hand. “What a lovely ring! I’ve seen few its equal. May I take a closer look?”

Rhen humored him, holding up her arm and twisting it one way, then the other. She caught a glimpse of the man’s wide eyes before his slowly spreading smile.

“Simply incredible. May I hold it?”

Her mind hazy with alcohol and good spirits, she slipped the ring off her finger.

Faster than Rhen could react, the strange man snatched the ring, grabbed her wrist—she didn’t notice when he’d drawn a metal bracelet from his pack, and now he slapped it onto one of her arms, his grip fierce on the other. The ring was gone, deep inside the man’s pocket. She began to struggle, delayed too late, yelling “STOP! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? PETER! HELP!” and her assailant, unconcerned, stuffed a rag into her shouting mouth.

“For a priestess, what a fool.”

He skillfully bound Rhen’s arms and legs, pulled a massive sack over her head to her ankles, and, with little effort, hoisted her over his shoulder. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize your mark? Truly foolish. You’ll fetch me a pretty penny in the markets of the Eastern Empire.”

The Eastern Empire? Across the ocean, on another continent, with that empress, and those jungles... and... slavery.  _Slavery._  Rhen was paralyzed with horror.

“And don’t bother trying to escape with your magic… You couldn’t enchant a gnat with that bracelet on.”

_Magic? “Priestess”? Does he think—_

“No one will find you now.”

Shaken, Rhen breathed as deeply as she could. With a clear head, she could discern the direction he walked. He hauled her through the eastern exit of the passage to Clearwater and she knew he took the trail south, down the mountain, past the sheep pastures. Rhen tried to shriek for Peter through the cloth in her mouth, but instead she gagged, tasting bile, unable to spit. Hanging upside down in the dark under the sackcloth, she wept. The tears streamed down her forehead, into her hair, some slipping down through the loosely-sealed mouth of the sack. She prayed frantically that someone, Peter, Danny, would somehow see the tears she left behind and follow her.

No one came.


	2. The Tenobors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There wasn't much stopping her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for slavery/abuse (similar to canon).

"TO BED WITHOUT SUPPER, GIRL."

Rhen glared daggers as she stormed through the house. She knew better than to speak back to Rona Tenobor when the sweet lady was angry. Or cross. Or mildly irritated. Or in a chipper mood, although Rhen wasn't convinced such a thing was possible.

This time, Rhen had hung one of Rona's weekend vests, the one with the second-tackiest floral print Rhen had ever seen, inside-out. Rhen wasn't sure how she was supposed to know which side was the correct side to face out and which was meant to face in, because the vest was fully reversible, and the inside was lined with the first-tackiest floral print she'd ever seen.

She had only suffered through five days of this nonsense so far, and she was out of hope, out of pleasantries, out of that stiff upper lip and emotional constitution she used to read about in her favorite twopenny novels, the ones where the displaced baronesses endured common labor jobs for the sake of their families and their harsh mistresses' soft-eyed sons.

Rona had a son.

For seconds after meeting him, Rhen thought Lars Tenobor and his noble flop of leaf-green hair might be passably attractive, and that her twopenny novel dreams could come true in the Tenobor household. Then, he opened his mouth.

And started barking like a dog.

His nasty friends, who were clustered about him on the front lawn, howled with glee. Rhen's face drew in, her lips parted in disgust. Lars mocked her expression with a high-pitched whine. In Rhen's opinion, he did a piss-poor imitation of a whining dog, but Rhen swiftly learned that her opinions didn't matter.

Rona was infuriating, but Rhen arguably suffered the most abuse from Lars in that, although he didn't yell or insult quite like his mother, he did play pranks which redoubled Rona's wrath. "The slave stole food off my plate!" "There's a water stain on my robes!" "Do you see this mud all over the foyer? Nasty Peta!"

Rhen couldn't stand that name. "Peta." Every time he said it, she wanted to take him by the ear and drag him through the nettles.

The first night Rhen spent in the Tenobor house, she had a nightmare. She was being carried away by the naked ocean, nothing but sky above her and endless water below, barely floating through a violent storm. She looked into the water below her and saw Peter. He was drowning. He seemed carved of petrified wood, and his eyes grew dim as he sank further into the fathomless depths.

"PETER! PETER!!" She woke up screaming. Lars heard her and strolled into her doorless room.

"Petahh, Petahh!" he crowed, mocking her western accent. "Petahh, is that you? Petahh!"

"Go away!" she shrieked, and threw her only pillow at him.

Lars snorted loudly. "Careful not to wake Mother. She'll make sure you don't sleep for a week. Petahhhh! Ahhhhhh!"

Apparently satisfied with himself, he kept her pillow and left for bed. Four days later and Rhen still didn't have a pillow.

He was intolerable after that first night. The lack of sleep Rhen suffered on the bare cot made him somehow even more difficult to bear. Whenever she walked by, he would cry, "Petahhh!" His mother chided him once for causing a ruckus, but naturally, he blamed it on Rhen for "disturbing his meditation." Even Lars' stupid friends started hollering "PETAH!" at her when they saw her. That one girl with the sneer etched into her face said that Peta was the name of her old family dog, and Lars loved that.

Not that Lars ever called her by her real name, nor indeed bothered to learn it. There was no Rhen in the Tenobor estate. There was “the girl”, and now, there was Peta.

Rhen despised the nickname, of course, and Lars did make her grind her teeth when he was around, but she just didn't hate him as much as she knew she should. Her situation didn't feel _real_ enough. She felt as if she were performing in some grotesque play, and Rona and Lars were the other two actors. It would all fall away in the end, and Rhen would go back to being a normal girl who did normal work for Ma in exchange for a normal allowance. She didn't believe she was here. She certainly didn't intend to stay.

And then, there was Lars himself. He was no gentleman--she couldn't forgive his complicity in his mother's slaveholding--but his antics struck Rhen as... childish, not nefarious. He acted a lot like Peter and Danny acted way back in the days when the three friends were the same height as marked on the oldest apple tree. Granted, Rhen had stuck just as many worms down Peter's back as Peter had hers. Rhen thought it a shame she couldn’t put sneezing pepper in Lars’ food. He was a snobby, bratty, mean kid, but a kid he was, no older than Rhen herself. The silly teasing and the pranks he pulled on her, while all the less comfortable within the household power dynamic, just reminded her of growing up with boys.

Lars needed to grow up, too.

Rona wasn't helping. She gave lip service to good behavior, but she never positively enforced it. Rhen gathered that Lars was applying to some school in Veldarah, but the highest praise she ever heard Rona give her son was "that's nice." (It was quite boring, being a slave, at least when the work was all finished, and the only entertainment Rhen got was in watching the riveting drama unfold between the mistress of the house and her only cohabitant.) He clearly couldn't talk to his mother about anything, so Lars was left to make himself feel powerful by picking on Rhen and impressing the other kids in town.

That's what Rhen assumed, anyway. The most virtuous protagonists in her books were the ones who could reason why their villains acted so venomous. Rhen wasn't exactly a storybook duchess, though, so even though she didn't hate Lars, she certainly felt no sympathy for him. Rona could afflict him all she wanted. Rhen didn't care. Not her family, not her problem.

She mused on the past several days' events as she went to bed, as instructed, without supper on that humid fifth night. There were no redeeming attributes to her indefinite new life, however hazily she understood it. Lars was no prince, Rona no misunderstood matron. The house was horrible, its slatted wooden walls rising around Rhen like a bamboo cage. The heat was excruciating, the air so thick it could be sipped through a straw. She never slept, not without a pillow, and not with the constant noise of crickets chirping just through the thin wall. The work might have been tolerable had she not been forced to do it, and were she not working for the vilest human being in Aia. Truly, she didn't mind washing dishes or serving food, and even squashing spiders was okay. She'd actually gotten quite skilled at squashing spiders.

But it was too much. It couldn't be happening. She couldn't believe it was happening.

So she decided it wasn't happening.

Rhen's personal belongings, even her clothes, had been stripped from her when she was sold. The priestess' ring could have been on any continent by now, as far as she was concerned. She didn't bother searching Rona's drawers and closets for her things. She took her burlap blanket, wrapped it around her journal and pen, and waited.

She waited until she heard Rona snore once, twice, three times; the woman had to be truly asleep now. She waited until she couldn't hear a single creak, straining her ears to reach the furthest corners of the house. Not even a spider's footstep resonated in the dark.

Rhen gathered her blanket-sack over her shoulder, tiptoed to the front door, and slid it open as quietly as she could. Just as she stepped onto the stony path before the door, she saw him.

_Lars? But I never heard him leave._

He was several yards down the long path to the house, near the front gate. Rhen noted she would have to change her plan of escape and clamber over the east side fence. She slid the door shut behind her and started down her new route, but then...

_He's crying._

Lars was hunched over, sitting on his knees in the grass near the gate, his head in his arms. She could just barely hear him over the crickets, and she recognized the sound of a tightly muffled sob, but he was definitely, doubtlessly crying.

There was no revelatory flash of insight while Rhen stood there, still as stone, watching Lars' shoulders shake. She guessed at his reasons, sure; she thought perhaps Rona was as cruel to him as she was to Rhen, just when Rhen wasn't looking. Or that his nasty friends had turned their coats on him. It occurred to Rhen that most of the figures in Lars' life were not the most gracious of people.

Lars stood up, and Rhen crouched into the shadows, away from the flickering lamps illuminating the pathway. She couldn't explain to herself why, but instead of leaving, she kept watching.

Lars straightened his back. Then he drooped his shoulders, and then straightened once more. Slowly, he stepped one foot forward into some sort of defensive posture. Rhen had seen illustrations of fighting stances in some of her adventure books. Her curiosity glued her eyes to the scene as Lars stretched his fingers in and out. Then, he inhaled deeply, thrust out his arms and--

Nothing.

Puzzled, Rhen furrowed her brow. Lars inhaled again, a little more sharply, and shoved forward once more. This time, Rhen saw something glow a little between his fingers, but nothing more.

_He's trying to cast a spell._

Rhen had never been anywhere close to magic before. She knew it immediately, as if reuniting with an old friend. That was magic, and Lars was trying to cast it, and... _he's never going to cast a spell if he stays so stiff._

_Wait... how would I know that?_

She couldn't understand it, but she knew that he would never cast effectively if he didn't calm down and lean his whole body into the motion. He was so rigid, moving parts of his body like a machine, each limb trying to operate independently. His force didn't come from his core.

Rhen would have thought all of those things, had she the words to put to them. Instead, as she watched with furious fascination, only one word coursed through her head, something she yearned to shout just to see what would happen if he listened.

Instead, after a minute, she left. No one noticed as she waded through the shallow, swampy river under the bridge leading out of Ghalarah, and no one noticed as she followed the riverbank north, scaling the short cliffs around the edge of the jungle. No one noticed that she'd left something behind--no one, that is, until Lars, about half an hour later, when he trudged back to the house, wiping sweat from his upper lip.

A writing quill, still dripping with ink, was speared directly through the shoji door at eye level. It pinned in place a single piece of paper, torn across the long end, reading one word.

"RELAX."


	3. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild language warning.
> 
> This is where things start to look very different. Writing this chapter was a blast, and I can't wait to start the next one. Please enjoy!

Rhen was coated from head to toe in the sludge that passed for a river in the wildlands of the Eastern Empire. A thought regarding the source of the water she'd been drinking for the past five days crept into her brain, but she pushed it away. Maybe it was filtered with magic. Rhen was pretty sure you could do that.

Dawn was breaking just behind the rubbery trees at her back. She wasn't concerned about being followed, even in daylight. For one thing, Rona had enough money to buy as many slaves as she wanted, so she wouldn't waste much energy on Rhen. For another, security in Ghalarah was scarce as it was. For a third, she did her best to trudge against the muddy river until the guardhouse was out of sight; only then did she step onto relatively dry land. There would be no tracks to investigate. The only threats were the big spiders that sometimes skittered across Rhen's path. She deftly avoided most of them (or sometimes, not so deftly, by plunging back into the river where they wouldn't follow). A couple of them got close enough to bite at her. Their entrails now stained the walking stick Rhen had snagged from underneath a dying tree.

She felt oddly relaxed as she stepped through the jungle undergrowth. She had absolutely no idea what to do, not the faintest clue how to return to Clearwater, but none of the minor obstacles between her and the western coast hampered her for long. If she could get the stupid metal bracelet off her wrist, she might be able to sell it for passage. And if not... there were kind people in this world. She knew that she could find help, somewhere, somehow.

She was a little hungry, though.

When the trees before her began to part, she was startled at the contrast between the dense jungle and the comparatively bald grassland. Not even a sapling padded the transition. Rhen grew a little wary as she stepped out into the bare morning. Dew tickled her calves, gently cleaning her of the jungle's grime. She stood still for a moment and surveyed the land. She saw a farm here and there, and little figures emerging to feed their livestock in the muted light of half-born morning. The ground sloped down toward the shore many miles in the distance. The horizon here was so broad that Rhen could see the ocean. Blinking, she tried to orient herself. She grew up in the middle of a mountain range; when she stared into the distance at home, the trees and elevation carved the sky into a tangled shape with soft edges, hanging above her like a strange blue chandelier. Here, the sky was... huge.

She saw the road. She started to walk.

It only occurred to her as she approached the nearest farm that everyone on this continent knew what her bracelet meant. Anyone could recognize an escaped slave, and she was probably worth more than the bracelet, even if it were melted down. Regretfully, she dropped her walking stick. She gripped her journal, now useless without a pen, in her cuffed hand, and wrapped the blanket around her arms like a shawl. Only her fingers peeked out from the scratchy cloth. Satisfied, she continued down the road and resolved not to make eye contact with anyone she didn't intend to beseech for passage or food.

She figured that the docks were the right place to go. If the farmers in the Eastern Empire were anything like the other landowners, they'd cast her out without looking at her twice. The wind around her dried the oozing mud in her clothes and her hair. She felt clods of dirt fall from her as she walked, which was a decent change from the goop dripping down her body, mingling with sweat. The road wasn't kind to her bare feet, but on she walked, not stopping to rest. Eventually, the shooting pain felt as if it had always been there, and Rhen could hardly feel it any longer. Home was ahead, somewhere, and she knew what she had to do. Just walk.

The trip to the docks felt like a dream. She realized that she was no longer commanding her legs; they seemed to walk on their own, mechanical, one step flowing into the next, self-contained. That was fine with her. She needed some time to shut down.

It took a couple hours of downhill walking to reach her destination. When she stepped down the stone stairs to the modest marina, she had to snap herself back into her body. There was no automation in talking to potentially helpful strangers. This, she had to do mindfully.

After a look around the tiny complex of buildings before the dock, Rhen turned her attention to the occupied boats. They weren't large boats, for the most part, but Rhen didn't care. She straightened her spine, checked her concealed bracelet, and marched up to a dark-haired man sitting beside a sloop as if waiting for a passenger.

"Hello, sir; are you heading west?"

Without changing his posture or really looking at Rhen's face, the sailor said, "This is the ferry to the northern isle, miss."

Rhen bit her lip. It was time to play sweet. "Um... would you consider taking a passenger to the Western Isle? I--I've lost my family. They're so far away, and I just want to go home." She made the saddest eyes she could muster.

The man didn't move. "This ferry goes to the northern isle. You'll have to try elsewhere."

Rhen froze. The man hadn't reacted one bit to her forlorn charm. _Maybe that only works on the general store manager at home._

Well, there was nothing for her to do about it. There were just a few other boats moored at the western docks. The sailors looked like they were preparing their ships for departure. Rhen trotted to the next one down the line.

"Excuse me, is this ship heading west?"

A feeble chorus of negative-sounding grunts answered her question.

The following ship looked as if it were about to leave the dock. Rhen dashed down the jetty and yelled, a little desperation rising in her voice. "Excuse me!"

Someone looked over the side of the boat. "Yes?"

"Are you headed to the Western Isle?"

"Yes."

"Um... would you mind terribly if... if I came with you?"

"Let me get the captain." The sailor loped off behind a mast. A moment later, a man in a fancy coat approached the side of the schooner and leaned over the edge to peer at Rhen.

"You seeking passage, then?"

"Yes, sir." Rhen made the eyes again.

"We can fit you aboard for fifty gold pennies."

Rhen's face blanched; her heart fell into her stomach, and her stomach fell to the soaking wood beneath her feet. She felt like the biggest fool in all of Aia. _How, how, HOW could I not consider this?!_

"I... I'm sorry, sir, but I have no money. But please, wait, I can work! I can do whatever you need! I--"

But by the time Rhen was rushing the last of her words, the captain had already turned away and left her by the side of the ship. It suddenly occurred to Rhen that, with her sweaty and muddy hair, her bare feet, her dirty face, and her soaking burlap blanket-shawl, she didn't look much like a passenger that most captains would be willing to take onto their vessels. Dejected, she trudged back up the jetty to the boardwalk.

"Hey, violet. C'mere."

Rhen stood back, shocked from bemusement into action.

_Violet?_

"You! You, the one going west. The one I know ain't got one penny on her person. You."

There he was, standing behind a wooden support. Curly hair, dark skin, a machete nose, and a tacky black eyepatch. Crouched as if ready to leap away, he was gesturing for her to join him. She couldn't help but mimic his posture just a little as she walked slowly in his direction.

"Excellent! Good. So... you wanna go west, huh?" Most of his teeth showed when he spoke. They were very small.

"Yeah," said Rhen, slowly.

"Great. You got a strong arm?"

Rhen drew a puzzled face. Hesitantly, she slid her unadorned arm out from underneath the blanket. She flexed.

The man pulled a thin smile. "Good enough. Fine. Good. Okay, come with me." He turned and jogged toward the smallest warehouse on the edge of the marina.

_Well, he's my best option yet._

Rhen jogged after him.

In the alley beside the warehouse, the stranger picked up a crate half the size of Rhen. "Carry this." She barely had time to hold out her arms before he plopped the crate onto them. Her journal fell to the ground.

"Oof."

"'Oof' is the sound of quitters, violet. This one too." A second crate, smaller, joined the first in Rhen's possession.

"What's in these things?" asked Rhen, muffled.

"Cargo."

"Any particular kind of cargo?"

"My cargo."

"Uh... fine. So if I carry this for you, you're gonna take me to the Western Isle, right?"

"Absolutely. Stick with me, violet; I got your back." The stranger, a barrel under each of his arms and his head held high, strolled from the alleyway.

In broad daylight, Rhen and the strange man marched his "cargo" across the marina and up the road away from the port. The man whistled a jaunty tune.

There was a horse-led cart sitting idle by the road. The words "WEST 2 EAST: 3 PENNIES FLAT" were painted on the back of the cart, but they were barely legible, peeling badly. Or perhaps scrubbed badly. An older man sat at the reins. "Evening, sir! Ma'am! Need a lift?"

Rhen's new cohort oozed charisma when he smiled. "If you don't mind! Eastern docks. How much?"

"Five pennies."

"Sure thing. Let me load these in and I'll get my purse." The stranger hoisted the two barrels into the backseat of the cart. He fished around under his belt, produced a tiny drawstring bag, and counted out five pennies for the driver before hopping into the front seat. The driver put the coins into his own purse, looked a little miffed at his unsolicited neighbor, and turned to Rhen.

"Oh... ah, that's five per person," he said. Rhen's stranger didn't drop his grin for even a second. He provided the driver with six more pennies. "Ah, sir--"

"A tip," said the stranger, "for the most cordial service."

As he beamed, Rhen plopped her cargo next to the barrels and squeezed into the tiny remaining space. Whatever was happening, this stranger was certainly the most benevolent she'd encountered as of late. She made a note to ensure he got his six pennies back.

The ride was silent. Rhen pushed the smaller box to rest on top of the barrels and shifted to sit on the bigger box. Atop her perch, she had a phenomenal view of all the glorious nothing. The road was elevated a bit above the terrain around it, forming a soft ridge. She could just barely see the rocky highlands to the south, and the jungle was a dark moss to the north. Most of her vision was occupied by clear, blue sky.

Rhen must have dozed off looking up at the quiet sky, because the next thing she knew, she heard seagulls _(seagulls!)_ yelping overhead, and waves beating against a much more gradual shore. The cart had stopped over a crest of grass which gave way to a shallow slope of sand. Rhen's strange friend was speaking to the driver, apparently in the middle of a joke. She hopped out of the cart and started unloading their cargo.

"And then the mariner said, 'with crew like these, who needs manatees?'"

The two men roared with mirth. The driver put his arm around his younger companion's shoulders as Rhen walked around the side of the cart to retrieve the barrels. The stranger placed his arm around the driver's waist, a gesture which seemed unusually intimate to Rhen, but then, she was a stranger in a strange land.

After the belly laughter subsided, Rhen's new guide leapt out of the cart onto his boot-clad feet. Rhen suddenly remembered how badly her own feet ached, and wondered whether she could procure such a pair of boots from this man.

"Take care, son," said the cart driver.

"You, too. Safe travels."

As the cart rattled back toward the crossroads near the eastern shore, Rhen and her friend carried their cargo down onto the beach. This harbor had hardly any sailors or ships, and only two little buildings. One was a storefront attached to a modest dwelling; its sign read, "BOAT DEALER." The other was the custom house, which looked unattended.

As they hauled, Rhen's friend nodded his head at the brigantine on the far left. "There she is. The good ol'... uh... Mary Beth, I think. Sorry, I meant Anna Beth. Finest ship in these waters."

Rhen cocked an eyebrow. "Which waters?"

"Well, you know. Wherever she is, there she is! It's her."

They were silent until they reached the ship. The stranger climbed aboard, and Rhen started to pass him up his cargo. She stopped before the last crate.

"Wait," she said. "I need to know you're not going to just take your stuff and leave me here."

"What, you... you don't trust me?" He faked shocked dismay for a second before dropping his face into a natural expression Rhen hadn't seen before. "Okay, fine; let's switch. I'll load on the last box."

They switched places, and Rhen stared at his face as he lifted the crate. The skin around his eye sagged a bit, and his mouth was framed by soft channels in his poorly-shaven skin. He looked a little tired.

She leaned over the rail. "Hey. Stranger. Why don't you think I'll just steal your boat and leave you behind, too?"

"Because you can't sail a ship with just one person, violet. Two people, sure. Not one." He stepped onto the ship beside her and brought in the gangplank. She turned to face him, arms crossed.

"I have been wondering that you seem to lack a crew. Any particular reason why?"

He sighed and started walking toward the map at the helm. Rhen followed. "Well, when a crew and a captain hate each other very much, they spend a couple of hours throwing punches at one another and then one of them leaves with the kids and the dog."

"A mutiny."

"More or less. They left me a ship, at least. No cargo."

"So that's the catch. What's in those boxes?"

"Cargo."

"Not _your_ cargo?"

He didn't answer that with a word so much as a hum.

"Right... so what's _in_ the cargo?"

He shrugged.

Rhen scoffed. "Are you serious?"

"One barrel contains stuff that rolls; the other contains stuff that sloshes. One of the crates is much lighter and the heavy contents of the second are packed so they don't move around inside."

"You're kidding."

He crimped his lips into a phony smile. "Would you like to open them with me, violet? It'll be _just_ like a birthday party."

Rhen clenched her teeth and said nothing. The captain walked back onto the deck and started pulling some ropes here and there. Regrettably, Rhen hadn't read much about ships. She knew some of the varieties, but not what all the ropes and sails did. She stayed a couple steps behind him and watched.

"You know, I could use a hand with this, violet."

"Why do you keep calling me 'violet'?"

"Your hair. Dark purple. Surely you've seen a mirror before? Lovely color."

"Oh... oh." Suddenly self-conscious, Rhen tucked her dirty braid underneath her blanket shawl. "It's actually quite light when it's clean."

He gave her a sympathetic look, the first she'd seen from him. "I'm sure you have a real name you'd like me to use."

"Rhen. Rhen Darzon." She shivered a little. She hadn't heard her name spoken aloud, even by herself, for quite some time.

"Beautiful, Rhen. I'm John. Friends call me Pirate John."

Rhen leaned back, startled. "Um... Pirate John... what?"

"What?"

"Your last name?"

"John."

"What?"

"Pirate. John. Understood?"

Rhen's curiosity burst through. "Hang on. So you're a pirate."

"Dear me. What gave that away?"

"So you... plunder and pillage and stuff like that. Illegal things."

"Oh, come now; I'm no villain!"

"Piracy is piracy!" Rhen couldn't keep the excitement off her face.

"It's, you know, ethical piracy! Steal from the rich."

"Oh, I know what you're talking about! And you give to the poor!"

"...Sure." John gave her a brief grimace and went to lift the anchor.

"So why are you giving me a ride, anyway? You know I have no money, and no one else would take me."

"I told you. Takes two people to sail a ship. Oh, and you can take that cloak off, by the way. You're not hiding anything from me."

Rhen was stunned into silence once more. She untucked the blanket wrapped around her arms and dropped it to the ground. The metal bracelet reflected John's face as he turned to look at her.

"We're both outlaws, you know."

Rhen clasped her hands, fidgeted her fingers. "I know."

"So. Are you with me, Rhen Darzon?"

She didn't have to think about it long. Performing criminal acts might be the only way she could get back home. Besides, it wasn't as if she'd never read novels about anti-heroic pirates and their journeys to the edge of the world. What young, bookish girl hadn't constructed romantic fantasies about loose shirts and rapiers and rum for breakfast? Not Rhen.

"Yes, I'm with you. Captain?"

"Forget that 'captain' business; there are two of us." The pair returned to the helm, and John began to steer them out of the harbor. "If we pick up a proper crew, you can be my first mate. Until then, we're partners." He grasped the wheel with one hand and reached out the other for hers. As she eagerly shook it, he peered at her ragged outfit. "Um.... What say we go ahead and open those birthday presents now?"

"Should we keep the sloshy one closed?"

"Good thinking." With the ship sailing itself away from the beach, they left the helm. John knelt beside a crate and reached into his pocket, and Rhen knelt beside him. "Oh, this is for you." He plopped the cart driver's purse into Rhen's lap and dove back into his pocket to retrieve a massive switchblade.

A smile spread across Rhen's soiled cheeks. "I knew you did it."

"Of course I did. I'm a pirate, and he charged me double." His voice strained a little as he pried off the top of the crate. "Ahh, just what I expected."

The crate was full to the brim with clothing. Not especially fancy clothing, nor clothing which one would expect to fetch a high price--but it was clean, it was breathable, and John was offering Rhen first pick. She dove in and started flinging blouses this way and that, hunting for the perfect outfit.

"We're going to have to fold all of these back up, you know."

"Let me have this! I was a slave yesterday."

She set aside a brown vest, a pair of ("very masculine, violet") black pants, and an airy white shirt with roomy sleeves. There was one pair of boots in the crate, and she claimed them without even checking for fit. At the bottom of the crate, she found a scarf the same red color as John's jacket. She pulled that out, too.

"Do you have a tub on this ship?"

"There's a washroom down in the quarters. Help me open this one before you go down." Rhen and John each gripped an edge of the heavier crate's lid and wrenched it off.

It was full of books.

"Aww, what?!" John leaned his head back to pout at the sky. "Books? I thought it would be gold bars... or... something! Damn my luck."

Rhen was enthralled. She ran her hands over the hard covers. "You don't want these?"

"They're worth nothing! Look at them; they're not even first editions!"

"Can I have them?"

John snapped out of his sulking posture to raise an eyebrow at Rhen. "Uh. I guess."

"Oh, gosh." Rhen's eyes were huge as she grinned at John. "Thanks. I'll come get them after I bathe."

John watched as she scrambled to her feet, grabbed her new clothes, and left him to fold and stow the rejects. He turned back to the mostly-empty crate and began his uncaptainly task. He couldn't help but smile.


	4. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sailing south.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of research for this chapter, because I know absolutely nothing about boats. Now I know some things about boats. If you know more about boats than I do, please let me know what I did wrong in the comments, and I'll fix it! I like learning about boats.
> 
> The chapter title will make sense. Eventually.

John let Rhen rest and recuperate for one day. Then, he put her to work. That was probably a good thing, because she was getting bored.

Apparently, when he wasn't tying down sails and whatnot, John kept limber by pacing back and forth across the deck. This morning, the skies were a bit overcast and the ocean was feistier than John liked. His walk was stiff and mechanical in the shadow of the gleaming, grey sky. Rhen joined him on his morning stroll, and he started barking words at her.

"Ahoy! We're learning terminology today, violet! Can't have you thrashing about when the orders come at you. All hands on deck!"

"Got both of mine." Rhen raised her hands level with her face and wiggled them about.

"Gaff-rigging! Cro'jack! Square the yards! Head, luff, leech, foot! Flying jib!"

Rhen lowered her hands. "Are you going to explain what any of these mean?"

"Cat the anchor. Futtocks. Tingle."

"You're making things up now! 'Tingle' isn't a real thing."

"It _is_ real. Know what it is?"

"No."

"Great! Now shut up so I can teach you. Eye splice."

"That sounds painful.  A personal favorite?"

John narrowed his remaining eye.  "I'm the captain here. Stow your mouth-words."

"You said you're not the captain if there are only two of us!" Rhen kept pace with John, who was now all but jogging between the foremast and the quarterdeck. "Now, are you going to tell me what any of these terms mean, or should I fetch a dictionary from my cargo?"

"No time for that. Sailing is a quick and busy venture. You'll learn as you go."

"So _show_ me something!"

"All right, fine!" John stomped to a halt, drew his knife, slashed a rope to his left, and ducked as the mainsail spar swung out of position. Rhen barely dove out of the way to avoid getting pitched off the ship.

"What was that?!" she shrieked.

"That's the boom," he answered.

"Great! All right! Why did you do that?!" Rhen looked about frantically, noticing that the ship was starting to veer widely off-course.

John stepped back onto his feet. "Time to learn. Put it back."

"What?!"

"The boom! Put it back where it's supposed to be."

"You're joking!"

"I'm not! I sail a ship, not a pinwheel. Secure the preventer and--"

"What's the preventer?!"

"The rope! The rope that keeps the boom from swinging around."

"You _cut_ that rope!" Both Rhen and John were shouting now as the ship rolled haphazardly over the waves.

John fell back onto his derriere. "Augh! Just get it! Get the rope--do a, a double fisherman's, just tie it back--"

Rhen flailed to grab the ropes, dragging the weight of the entire mainsail behind her. "What's a double fisherman's? Is that a knot?! Oh my gods!" Panic flooded her eyes as the boat pitched nearly sideways in a broad turn.

"Just make two knots around each rope--no, near the ends, around one another--the knots should sort of, um, hit each other when you're done?"

"What are you talking about?!" Rhen hollered over the wind and ocean as she fumbled with the ropes. John scrambled to his feet and steadied himself on the boom next to Rhen. She nearly lost hold of the preventer, and he grabbed it before it could swing away.

"Here, look." John took both ends of the cut rope from Rhen, his voice a little quieter. He started tying the divorced preventer back around itself. "You do the other knot. Tie the bottom half to the top half, above my knot. See?"

With shaky hands, Rhen tied a second knot on her half of the rope. They both gingerly drew their hands away when the two knots, securing one another in place, met where John had slashed the preventer. The boom steadied and the ship's wearing ceased. Rhen and John looked at the boom for a moment, then at one another. They exchanged wavering smiles and breathless laughter.

Then Rhen straightened her back and slapped John.

"Ow!"

"We could have capsized, you... you oaf! You really needed to nearly kill us both just to teach me what the 'boom' and the 'preventer' are, or how to tie a 'double fisherman's knot'?! You're a menace!"

"Well, you'll never forget those things now, will you?"

Rhen screamed wordlessly at the infuriating grin on John's face. Still trembling throughout her body, she stormed over to the foremast and thrust a finger at it. "What's this?"

"The foremast."

"What's the sail?"

"The foresail. Square-rigged."

"Fore because it's at the front, and square because it's shaped like a--"

"Yes."

She pointed a little lower. "What are the poles?"

"The... oh, you mean the spars. Big one's the mast. Foremast. The ones square to the mast are the yards."

"Square because they're square rigged?"

"Square like... the angle. They make square corners."

"You mean it's perpendicular?" John, not well-versed in mathematics, was silent. Rhen spun around. "Okay. That's the boom."

"The spar on the bottom is the boom. This sail is rigged fore-and-aft."

"Like a triangle."

"Sure."

"And it's the... back-sail?"

"Mainsail. Good gods, violet."

"I'm learning!" she snapped. "Mainsail on the mainmast. And behind it is the... helm."

"The quarterdeck. Aft of the mainsail, not 'behind'."

"Aft is back. Fore is in front, near the foresails. The bow! Um... I can't remember port and starboard." Rhen's shoulders slowly relaxed as she strode across the deck between points of interest. She met John's eye.

John cracked a generous smile at Rhen's visible curiosity. "Port is the loading side of the ship. The gangplank is on the left. Starboard's right."

"Why's it called starboard?"

"Does it matter? There are more knots you need to know."

"Okay... do you have spare rope somewhere? I can fetch it."

John's forehead wrinkled. "Ah... well..."

Rhen held her forehead in her hand. "You're joking."

"I'm not!" Indignant, John looked around, and then grabbed Rhen's long braid.

"Hey!" she yelped. "This isn't--"

"Piracy is all about making the best of what you have," he sagely announced as he tugged Rhen along to the quarterdeck.

"No it's not!"

Ignoring her, he stopped in front of the staircase and wrapped the braid around a rail. "Let's talk knots. This is a bowline. First, you make this loop." John struggled a little to wrap Rhen's hair around itself, but she gave up protesting and simply stood still, glaring, as he worked.

"You're lucky I washed that the other day."

"You were right! It's such a lovely shade of lavender. Pity you're a pirate and not a fairy. Watch what I do with the end."

John was just barely able to tuck the braid into itself, then around, then into itself once more. "This is usually used for heavy loads, mooring, lifting, what-have-you. The loop holds well under pressure." John finished the loop and displayed it on the palm of his hand. "Tah-dah."

"Let me try." Abandoning all pretense of offense, Rhen untied the knot in her hair and replicated it with some difficulty. "This is easier with real rope, right?"

"Sure, if you know what you're doing. Tell you what--when we make port, I'll buy you a whole fifty feet of rope."

"I don't need fifty feet. Buy me ten. And some real food; I'm sick of oranges."

"As you desire, your highness. Perhaps you'd like to avail yourself of the complimentary fishing nets?" John gave her a hard stare, and she rolled her eyes but made silent plans to familiarize herself with the nets on the starboard side of the ship.

"Get on with it."

"Next, we're learning the reef knot," said John, disregarding Rhen's tone. He untied the sash from Rhen's waist and twisted it until it was similar in circumference to Rhen's braid. He deftly tied the sash to the braid.

Rhen grabbed the new knot and examined it. "Hang on... if this is how you tie two, um, ropes together, what did we do back at the boom?"

"The reef knot isn't ideal for tying two ropes together; it's usually used to bind things. The double fisherman is a 'bend'; that's a type of knot designed to connect two ropes. Reef knots--" he yanked on the scarf, which began unraveling in her hair "--don't hold up very well when strained like that."

"Please stop pulling on my hair," Rhen groused. "It hurts. Can't we tie knots in something else? Surely you don't need _all_ of those ropes for the sails?"

"Are you serious?" John scoffed. "A ship is a tight system. If you remove even one of the supports, the structure takes a will of its own! The ropes are how we tie it down, control it. Like a wild beast."

"Um... really? I sort of figured the sailor owned the ship, not the other way around."

For a thirty-something-year-old man, John pulled off a commendable pout. "I _do_ own this ship! In a manner of speaking. We need to treat it well."

"'It'?"

"Her! We treat _her_ well, and she treats us--oh, for heaven's sake; let's do the clove hitch." He busied himself with Rhen's hair.

Rhen narrowed her eyes. She was on a modest ship gods-knew how many miles offshore with only this man. She accepted that there was no backing out, no leaving the ship and seeking more competent refuge... but it sounded like she would have to pull more weight than she'd expected. "How long have you been a captain, exactly?"

John paused and looked up from the braid. "Uh... you mean... cumulatively?"

Rhen expelled a harsh sigh. "Nevermind. Just show me the knot."

The lesson continued by the quarterdeck staircase. Once John had demonstrated the four basic sailing knots, he led her around the ship, showing her examples of each knot in use. Rhen was impressed by the meticulous condition of the ship. It looked, even smelled, like freshly-carved and varnished wood, as if it were built no more than a month before. Rhen repeated her rounds across the deck, pointing and reciting vocabulary until John got bored and went belowdecks. Several minutes passed before he returned, finding Rhen exactly where he'd left her. He carried a double-edged rapier in each hand.

"Having a good time?"

"I think I've got it! You're going to have to go over some of the individual ropes again, though. But I remember the preventer."

"Good. It's time for another lesson."

"Oh, really?"

John held out one rapier. "There's more to piracy than sailing the ship, violet."

Rhen took the rapier carefully. Her heart beat a little faster. "Oh, gosh."

John placed his hand over hers in the basket of the sword to guide her. "Here, put these fingers--yep, you got it." Rhen was surprised to feel a slight tremor in his hand, the kind she recalled from the hands of her parents. Satisfied with her grip, John pulled away and tossed the second rapier into his right hand. "Let's start with your stance."

Rhen hopped into a wide stance, her arms and legs far out on either side. The rapier was much lighter than she expected. "I've never held a real sword before. I used to play knights and brigands with... with Peter and Danny." Her shoulders drooped a little.

"Shoulders up, Rhen. Feet shoulder width apart. And try to relax." John modeled a stance for Rhen, and she drew herself up to match him. When she found the right pose, she snapped into it as if her body knew it well. She bounced on the balls of her feet. John lowered his stance to match hers. "Nice one. You're taking to this."

"It's easy. What now? Do we fight?"

"Give the sword a flick first."

As if she'd flicked swords her entire life, Rhen cut from her elbow, carving a slick line in the air before John. He nodded with approval.

"You sure you've never fought with a sword before?"

"Never."

"Whatever you say, violet. Let's dance."

John and Rhen crossed swords. John smiled, mellow, and Rhen's face was alight, her eyes wide and determined, her lips parted slightly.

They began.

"If I swing like this--" John slashed for Rhen's shoulder, but she guarded without blinking. "Good. You--" Rhen swung around for a riposte. He blocked it, his defense quick. "Good! Wow."

As John realized it was pointless to direct his pupil in their duel, he sped up his assault, testing her to see how far she could go. Rhen felt a rhythm in their battle. It wasn't just a fight; it was a waltz. The air sung as their rapiers sliced through. Her feet felt the cadence, and her heart matched it. She didn't miss a beat as she advanced. Through the humming metal, John saw something odd, some unrefined grace. In her strange, silent music, Rhen could become unstoppable. So focused were they that neither felt the first raindrops falling from the overcast sky.

"Stop," said John. Rhen halted on a beat.

They stared at one another for a second, John bewildered, Rhen smiling.

"You're quite good."

"Thank you! It was kind of fun. I know it's not supposed to be fun, but--"

"No, you're right, it's absolutely fun." John stretched. "To tell you the truth, I think you're going to be better at this than I am. You sure you don't want to sign on full-time as my crew?"

"I just want to go home, John. But thanks."

"Fine, fine. But we do have to talk about something."

"What?"

"You're, ah, going to want to chop off that tail on your head."

Rhen gasped, dropping her sword. She clutched her braid, nearly calf-length and immaculately maintained, in both hands. "You're kidding! No! Why would I ever?"

"Just trust me on this. Please."

"Absolutely no chance." Rhen folded her arms and glared at John.

John turned on his heel and let loose a long, shallow sigh. Rhen continued scowling at his back. Without saying a word, John spun back around and resumed his fighting stance. Rhen snatched up her sword and met him again, the music drumming back up in her pulse. John began the offense immediately, swiping at Rhen's arms, countering ripostes. He feinted to her left and spun around her right side--and grabbed her braid with his free hand. She screeched. Hand tight around her hair, he yanked her to the ground.

Flat on her back, Rhen gaped up at John, who held his rapier to her collarbone. "Oww!" she whimpered, and then, "oh."

"Cut it off."

John lowered his rapier and offered Rhen a hand. She took it, rose to her feet, and sighed. "Can I borrow your knife?"

Wordlessly, John handed her the knife. Rhen held her braid taut and, with a gulp, cleaved it apart. Sixteen years of cherished hair fell limp in her hand. The short hair remaining on her head coiled against itself, messy with seawater and sweat.

John chuckled. "Still purple, huh. I thought you kept your weird fairy color magic in your braid." He took the knife back and sheathed it.

"It's not fairy magic!" Rhen shot back. "It's genetic."

"It looks good! It's kinda curly. Hm... I need to cut my hair soon, too. Anyway, same principle applies to excessively baggy clothing. Mage's robes! One time, we got into a tiff with a galleon from the northern isle, and they had this aggressive sun mage on board. Took him down the same way. Moral of the story: don't wear a blanket to a blade fight."

"I'll remember that."

Rhen felt so strange without her braid. Much lighter, certainly. She brushed a hand over the short fluff on the nape of her neck, marveling at the weightless space around her ears. Something splashed against her exposed arm.

"Uh, John? I think I felt a raindrop."

"Oh..." John quailed. "Oh no."

Both turned to face the bow of the ship. The sky ahead of them was dark, the clouds low enough that Rhen thought she could touch them from the crow's nest. Light flickered between them, and a menacing growl echoed across the bare ocean. The ship crested a wave Rhen somehow hadn't noticed. A much bigger one was rolling into formation not ten yards before the bow.

Rhen blinked a few times to make sure what she was seeing was real. It was. She gulped.

"So, um... what do we do now?"

John stared wordlessly into the clouds. He made a defeated noise.

"Oh no you don't, Jonathan; we are not dying in a hurricane this day!" Rhen gestured with agitation as she spoke.

John's voice accelerated. "I-it's not to be helped! There's no way we can turn around and reach land before that thing hits us! We've only two crew, and it's obviously rolling fast, and--wait, who said you could call me 'Jonathan'?"

"Let's navigate through the storm!" yelled Rhen, ignoring his query. "You've done it before, surely; just tell me what to do now."

John put his hands to his temples for a second before turning his face to the sky. A raindrop hit him in the eye. "Augh! All right, go, go reef the.... Just climb the foremast; I'll tell you what to do from there!"

As John dashed to the wheel, Rhen scrambled up the sturdy, square-rigged foremast. The waves were smashing against the sides of the boat now, and it swayed slowly back and forth. Climbing was easy for Rhen, but even for a born forest girl, the slippery pegs lining the mast were difficult marks for frantic hands and feet. She reached the yard below the topsail and slowly stepped onto it, gripping the ropes like vines between treetops.

She tried to shout to John, but her voice was carried away by the mounting wind. Instead, she waved with one arm, careful not to lose balance. John waved back and started pointing. Immediately, Rhen followed his direction, passing between ropes. When he raised his hand, she pulled. When he rolled his fists, she guessed which knot to tie and gave it her best shot. He guided her through reefing the foresail, holding onto the wheel to the best of his ability, steering the ship away from massive waves. The entire sky was dark now, but Rhen felt more confident with each line she pulled.

Until they heard the _snap,_ and the reverberation of the mainsail boom as it swung out of position.

The preventer John had severed was once again torn in twain, no trace of a knot to be seen. The ship reared and rocked, and Rhen nearly fell from the topsail to the deck. Clinging to the yard with both arms and overwhelmed by terror, she screamed louder than she'd ever screamed before.

John abandoned his post, hurled himself over the quarterdeck, and landed on his feet into an immediate, unsteady gallop. He skidded to a stop below Rhen, adrenaline keeping him upright as he reached up for her. "JUMP!"

Rhen didn't jump so much as fall at John, who grabbed her just before she hit the deck and set her on her feet. Neither spoke before running to the mainmast. Over her shoulder, Rhen could see land on the port side--and a prohibitive formation of sea-sculpted rocks between the ship and the shore.

John leapt for the boom, just missing it as it swung wide to port. Rhen caught it with her chest. Winded, she could do nothing but stagger as John ran toward her. He grabbed the spar and tried to pull it back into position, but the gale was too strong. With the mainsail out of control, the ship was lost to the mercy of the hurricane. Both pirates were thrown off their feet as the vessel pitched toward the rocks. Helpless on the deck, Rhen felt a colossal wave build under them. It carried them into the treacherous shallows and broke. Rhen felt as if the ship plummeted for an eon before it finally smashed into the rocks.

The ship cracked and crunched, speared upon a sharp crag. It groaned as it slowly leaned to one side. Rhen grasped for the ship's rail and looked behind her. John, unconscious, was sliding down the drenched deck toward the ocean.

"JOHN!" she shrieked. "JOHN, WAKE UP!"

Her cries were fruitless. The waterlogged wood splintered in Rhen's hand as the ship turned its starboard side to the depths. Her handhold snapped off of the rail. She smacked her head on the anchor winch, and the world was black before she hit the water.


	5. Land's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting lost is sometimes incidentally productive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for descriptive violence. I'm new here, so I don't know how "graphic" it's considered. Mild language warning.
> 
> Get ready for longer chapters and some liberties taken with canon lore.

The first thing she felt when she regained consciousness was very soft grass. The second thing she felt was the moisture from her clothes flush against her skin. The third thing was the unbearable pressure in her sinuses. She moaned in pain, rolled onto her side, and crushed a few wildflowers along the way.

"Johhhhn," she tried to yell, but it came out as more of a nasally whine. "Augh."

The fourth thing she noticed was the conspicuous absence of an ocean or shoreline anywhere nearby.

Confusion muddled with panic and mucus flooded her mind as she scrambled upright. At five feet up, her head pounded with an unprecedented furor, and flickering clouds of static blinded her eyes. Her throat felt hellishly dry, and she knew the snotty drip alone couldn't have caused so much pain. She wondered how much seawater she'd swallowed. Then, she wondered how long she had to find fresh water before her body would succumb to dehydration. As her vision cleared, she decided that wondering was useless, and she resolved to waste no time on it. Unsteadily, she picked a direction and marched.

John was rousing as Rhen waded through the tall grass. He sat up, and she ran to him when she saw his tousled head rise into view.

She panicked a little when she reached him. What did Ma teach her? _"If someone goes underwater for a long time, check their... hearing?"_ That probably wasn't right, but Rhen couldn't think of anything else.

"John! John, can you hear me?"

Puzzled, John turned to stare up at her. "Uh... yes."

Relief blew from Rhen's lungs. She was pretty sure the next thing to do was to see if the knowledge hadn't been rattled out of his brain. Dyonna taught her how to do this part. "Okay. Good to hear your voice. Um... what's your birthday?"

John blinked schmutz from his eye. "The third of January."

Rhen blinked back. "Oh. I... um... well, I'm sure that's correct. Anyway, does your head hurt?"

"Now it does." John cringed as he stood up. "Where are we?"

"I have no idea. I was hoping you might."

John took a long, deep breath. "Well, I can tell you where we aren't, at least."

"Yeah?"

John stuck out a finger. "We're not near the ocean." He stuck out another. "We're not near human civilization." He stuck out a third. "And we're not on the Western continent."

A massive weight fell through Rhen's body. "Great. And you can tell all that with your nose?"

"It's not hard. I don't smell salt or smoke."

"How do you know we're not on the Western continent, though?"

John looked around and began walking as he spoke. "The soil on the Western continent is comprised of approximately five percent organic matter, approximately oh-point-oh-three percent of which is pure cheese. The whole continent reeks of cheese."

"You're kidding."

"I am not. Although I've never met another human being who could smell it."

Rhen was incredulous. "Even Clearwater is like that?"

"Clearwater smells fine, but it's impossible to reach Clearwater by sea. Unless some giant... oh, I don't know... some giant bird plucked us up and dropped us into Clearwater, we're not there. Besides that, I assumed you of all people would be able to recognize Clearwater on sight."

"That's true." Rhen, who was significantly shorter than John, brushed tall stalks from her face as she followed him. "So we're not in Clearwater, we're not anywhere else on the Western continent, we're very far from any empires, cities, and towns, and... we lost the ocean. That last one's bothering me."

"What exactly happened out there, violet? I can't remember much."

"Um..." Rhen scrunched her eyes shut as she searched for the memory. "I think... after the preventer split, the ship got caught by a huge wave and we crashed onto some rocks. I remember falling, and this horrible sound; I think the ship got... sawn in half, sort of, and you were already unconscious when we were separated. After that, I think we were both dumped into the ocean." Rhen cleared her throat. "I don't know how we ended up here. There was so much fog during the storm that I had no idea we were so close to land."

"I see." The scraggly conifers dotting the landscape became larger and more numerous as they continued walking, offering shade from the uncompromising sun. "The more I think about it... gods, I hope I'm wrong."

"What?"

"It sounds like we entered a... a zone of magic, I might call it. Magic strong enough to pull us out of the rocks and onto dry land, alive and unharmed. Some places in this world are so magical that they take on wills of their own, and use their magic to make strange things happen."

They were silent for a moment. Rhen processed this theory. She'd read of one such place, but could never fathom such a great amount of magic--it was hard to comprehend a living land. "That's... that's what Aveyond is, right?"

John held his face forward, but a muscle in his cheek twitched. "So I've heard."

"We're not in Aveyond, are we?"

"I don't... think so." John's voice was higher pitched than usual. "I don't think so."

"I've read about Aveyond. It's the land of the gods, and I think the Sun Temple is there. I don't know where exactly it is." Rhen touched John's arm. "Have you ever been there?"

"No."

"If the land is alive, and it saved us, maybe it wants something from us."

"That's not our problem, violet," John said, a firmness in his voice. "We need to leave. Find the shore, find a boat. Leave."

Rhen was quiet.

John was quiet.

Rhen said, "Are you afraid?"

John said nothing.

They walked through the gathering trees in grounded silence. Rhen fell behind once or twice as John plowed through thick undergrowth as if it were soft butter. They skirted around a couple of colossal blue birds here and there, avoiding notice by sprinting on their toes. Rhen drew her rapier and held it close at hand through their trek.

After an uneventful half an hour, Rhen broke their silence. "What are we looking for, exactly?"

John turned to look at her while he spoke without slowing down. "Running water would be helpful. A change in elevation, perhaps. If we could get up high, we might be able to see where the terrain changes."

"I can't see anything like that through all these trees. Maybe I should climb--"

Rhen was cut off by an ear-splitting shriek. John stumbled backward as he collided with a strange woman, naked from head to waist where she protruded from the dirt, her eyes bright red. They could only stare for a second before the woman grabbed John's head in one hand and shrieked again, her face barely inches from his.

"D-dryad!" John stammered before tripping over a tree root and hitting the ground.

Rhen had no time to process or panic. She snapped into a defensive crouch and circled around the trees to flank the dryad, rapier brandished. The spirit turned to face her, and she immediately struck out. Another, higher-pitched shriek rang through the forest, and sap-like blood oozed from a cut across the dryad's face.

John clambered to his feet and drew his rapier. "Take off the limbs!"

The dryad rushed at Rhen, but she was quick enough to dodge and slice her weapon at an arm. She was shocked to find that the arm severed with ease. Sap spurted from the creature's shoulder as it wailed. On the spirit's other side, John carved off the opposite arm. The red eyes began to glow with heightened ferocity. The spirit's shriek became a growl, and a magical wind built behind John. Rhen just barely had time to yell for him before he was hoisted into the air and spun about like laundry in a washing drum.

Horrified, Rhen lashed out again with all of her strength. She cut through the spirit's body, and the glowing red eyes were extinguished. John fell to the forest floor. The dryad's bust from one shoulder upward slid down the rift in its torso through slippery sap. When it toppled to the ground, Rhen saw that the dryad's stump was pure wood, its countless rings gathering a strange smoke. Bodiless, the spirit exited its material corpse and blew off into the foliage.

John stood and sheathed his rapier. "That was interesting."

Rhen leaned against a tree, panting. "I... I've never killed before. I've never--"

"You've still never killed before, vi. You can't kill a forest spirit without killing the forest. You just... sent it away."

"Will the forest be angry?"

"I don't think so."

Rhen realized that she was shaking. She sheathed her rapier and folded her arms close around her chest. "Can we... can we not do that again, please?"

John looked at Rhen for a moment, his face softening. He put an arm around her shoulder. "We can give it our best shot. Take your time, Rhen. We'll get going again when you're ready."

They stood for a minute. Rhen was shut in her mind, the trees a green smear and John's arm a blanket. She only emerged when she felt the tears on her cheeks. She wiped them away with her sleeve and stood up straight.

"Let's keep searching."

"Aye aye, captain." John smiled at her. He turned and chose a direction. "I can't smell anything, so any direction is as good as any other. But I do think I've figured out where we are."

Rhen sniffed up the drips from her nose. "Where?"

"I think this is Land's End. I've heard stories of dryads, and other things."

"What other things?"

As John spoke, Rhen could hear the relaxed smile in his voice. "Well... I have a pirate story I think you'll like. I bet you haven't read it in any books."

Now Rhen was smiling. "Is that a formal bet?"

"My captain's jacket for the rest of your hair. Sound fair?"

She faked an aghast tone. "My hair? You can't have my hair! That's where I keep all my purple fairy magic!"

The younger pirate giggled as the elder chortled. "Fine," said John. "How about one of your eyes? Surely you don't need both of those." Laughter bubbled through the forest for a moment. Rhen felt the tension leave her body.

When she could speak again, she said, "Just tell me the story, John! I want to hear it."

"All right. You asked for it." John cleared his throat. "So, there was this pirate captain. You've probably heard of him. His name was... um... Red... no, Blue. Hang on, it was Yellowbeard? Yellow... yellow something, I think."

Rhen raised her eyebrows. "Yelloweye? Yellowtooth? I think I know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, Yellowsomething, probably. Let's go with that. Anyway, he stole a cursed ship called the... oh, forget the names; it's the story that matters here. He stole a cursed ship, and on that ship was a cursed map which lead to a cursed treasure. There were some other cursed things, I think, like a cursed... parrot or something. Lots of curses. The point is, Yellowsomething accrued a whole lot of curses while he captained this ship. He was an effective captain. His crew pillaged countless goods and accumulated an extraordinary amount of wealth. When he was as rich and greasy as any pirate has ever been, he sailed into the deep sea between the Arishta Isles and Thais. His timing was poor, or perhaps the curses decided it was time, because he sailed straight into a maelstrom. When every single cursed object, from the ship to the treasure to the unspecified companion animal, was pitched into the sea and destroyed, every single spirit of every single curse came to claim their dues. You know what happened then?"

"What happened?"

"Well, there were at least a dozen curses, but only one man. So each spirit took one piece of the man. Still alive, he was raised up above the ocean and torn into pieces."

"Oh my gods!"

"Curses aren't fun. So each spirit had a piece of Yellowsomething, and the curse was fulfilled. These pieces ended up scattered across Aia. To my knowledge, at least one of the pieces is here, in Land's End." John wiggled his eyebrows. "We might find his bones!"

Rhen pretended to gag. "That's gross. Magic bones, huh?"

"Yep. I don't know where they all are, but I have it on good authority that they're mostly treated as relics. And, if I remember correctly, his skull is the piece in Land's End. That's gotta be worth something, if we can take it."

"Do you know anything else about Land's End?"

John bit his lip.  "You might not like this next part so much."

"What?"

"I've heard that... that time passes far more slowly in Land's End than it does in the outside world."

Rhen paled.  "How much more slowly?"

"I think it varies.  Like I said, it's a magic land; I wouldn't be surprised if it tailors its magic to fit what it wants from its captives.  But I _have_ heard a story about a man who spent three days in here, and when he emerged, his children--the eldest of whom was five when he left--and his children's children, whom of course he'd never met, were all already dead."

Rhen felt as if she were about to vomit up all of the seawater in her stomach.  "Oh, gods... we have to get out of here."

"I agree."

"You don't think that will happen to us, do you?"

With firm confidence in his voice, John said, "No, I don't."

"I hope you're right.  And I guess there's nothing we can do about it besides find our way out."

The trees started to thin. John's head perked up. "Hey, can you hear that?"

Rhen strained to listen past the squawking birds and rustling leaves. At the very edge of her sensory range, she did hear something familiar--trickling water. "Do you think there's a stream nearby?"

"Yep, that's exactly what I was thinking. Let's find it."

John led them toward the source of the sound. Beyond the woods, they found it: not just one, but a broad system of intertwining streams with grassy islands between them. Birds and dryads lurked in the shade beneath scattered trees. Far in the distance, guarded on all sides by water, was a temple, shining white in the high sun.

Rhen remembered how thirsty she was. Barely pausing to check her three and nine, she sprinted to the nearest streambed, plunged her hands into the fresh water, and splashed it in her face, catching what she could in her mouth. Dirt streamed down her skin in the water, but she didn't care. She caught one gulp, then another--

And then she heard the SQUAAAAWK, and she looked up and screamed just before a massive pair of taloned feet shoved her to the ground.

John, ready with his rapier, lunged forward and speared the ravwyrn in its cobalt thigh. "Gods, violet; what were you thinking?!"

Scrabbling backward against the stony bank, Rhen launched herself haphazardly onto her feet. She whipped her rapier from its sheath. "I'm sorry!"

The ravwyrn swept at her, slamming into her shoulder with enough force to leave a significant bruise. She yelped in pain and stabbed at the wing which struck her. The bird matched her cry of pain and flew back a few paces. It flapped its wings faster, so fast that John and Rhen couldn't move past the wall of wind it created. The bird released, and a small whirlwind rushed the two humans. John dodged just in time, but Rhen was caught in its center. It lifted her into the air and spun her so quickly the shriek was ripped from her breath before it dumped her onto her posterior. She blinked away dizziness and stars while John launched an assault on the ravwyrn.

"It's weakening! Help me finish it!"

Rhen wobbled to her feet again and ran to pick up her sword. She took one thrust, still half-blind, and miraculously pierced the ravwyrn in its long neck. It gargled around the hole in its throat, and blood splattered Rhen and John as they watched the beast tumble to the ground.

They didn't speak. Each pirate, hunched and panting, leaned against the other and fixed their eyes on the ravwyrn to make sure it didn't spring back to life. When Rhen regained her breath, she surveyed the water. Downstream, it had turned a filthy red, and upstream, muddy water flooded the banks where the flow was dammed by the bird's corpse. There was no more hydration to be found at this watering hole.

"Let's head up to the temple," wheezed John. "I think a druid lives in Land's End. Maybe they can help us out."

Damp and shaken, Rhen and John ran as stealthily as they could across the mostly bare fields and brooks. They stayed low to the ground and, when they could, downwind of Land's End's aggressive inhabitants. A small pack of ravwyrns and a sharp-eyed dryad deterred them from sprinting straight for the temple's entrance once they'd cleared its natural moat.

"It should be safe once we cross the threshold," whispered John. Rhen nodded in agreement. Druids' temples were supposed to be sacred, peaceful grounds where no creature could or would dare spill blood. Despite this knowledge, Rhen felt sick with fear.

When all the creatures' backs were turned, the pair made a final mad dash for the sanctuary doors. The dryad turned to face them just as they reached the top of the alabaster stairs, but they slammed the door shut before she could attack.

Safe behind the doors, they turned to face the temple sanctuary. As they stared, Rhen sank to her knees, and John took slow, shaky steps toward the altar. Neither could believe what they saw there. The druid--and it had to be the druid, not a perfect replication, because Rhen could feel the scream in his throat just by looking at his face--stood frozen in stone, a statue to the world, next to the altar.

Rhen drew her legs to her chest and hugged them, unable to tear her eyes away. John cautiously touched a finger to the stone druid's face. The statue didn't respond. John's arms fell to his sides, and he stood there, a head's distance from the statue, staring without scrutiny.

"John..." Rhen bleated. "Is he dead?"

"I don't know." John's voice cracked. "I don't know."

They were silent and very still for several minutes. Rhen's eyes locked in place and fogged over with exhaustion.

John reanimated and let out a puff of air. He straightened his torn jacket. "If nothing else, ah... we're safe in here for now. I think we can afford to rest." As he turned around, his eye flickered to life. "Vi! Look!"

Rhen looked. John was pointing at a pedestal in the center of the room, one they'd both ignored. It was surrounded by a shallow pool of crystal-clear water. Atop the flawless white pedestal sat a skull. Rhen's eyelids snapped all the way open.

"Is that Yellow... is that the one from your legend?"

"What else could it be?" There was a touch of glee to John's otherwise drained voice. "Of course a relic would live in a temple like this! If we ever get out of here, violet, we are a rich crew! We could buy any ship--hell, we could buy an entire _fleet_  of ships!"

Rhen stood up. "I could help Pa fix the house! Rather, I could pay for it."

John stepped toward the pedestal, grinning. "This is it. Ow!"

The pool surrounding the pedestal rebuffed John. Rhen saw magical electricity spring out at him and knew what it had to be. "John! Are you okay?"

"More or less," John grumbled. He reached for the skull again, and the ward zapped him. "Ow! What _is_  this?!"

Rhen bit her lip. "Uh... I think it's some sort of magical seal. It's probably the druid's magic."

"Oh. Great. Hope you didn't get too attached to the idea of a new roof."

Rhen sighed. She wasn't sure of the last time so many things had gone so wrong all at once. "We're pirates. Screw stealing a skull; we can steal a ship. Right?"

John smiled weakly. "Now you're getting it."

"Let's just... find a comfortable place to rest. There has to be something cushy in this pretty temple."

There wasn't. Vohu Manah was the druid of music, not the druid of soft beds, and the temple was designed for optimal acoustics. Still, a hard, polished floor was preferable to a forest riddled with monsters. John took off his coat, folded it, and handed it to Rhen. She laid it under her head on the floor and closed her eyes. He knelt beside her, resting his head back against the altar.

Rhen always slept on her back, her whole body stretched out, closed eyes facing the sky. When she was very small, of course, she slept in her parents' bed, snuggled between them like a soft, purple pillbug. Ma taught her early that hunching her spine was bad for her back, so when she had her own bed, she trained herself to sleep like a plank. She grew up with a strong back. On the cold temple floor far away from home, she nestled her head into the jacket, curled her legs up to her chest, and made herself as small as she could, falling asleep with her nose gently pressed against John's knee.

 

 

Light no longer shone through the stained windows of the temple when Rhen awoke. Her bruised arm, now an angry fusion of mauve and green, ached her into consciousness. She sat up, shivering. John was staring out a front window.

"John," she whispered. The soft word echoed through the vaulted ceiling. John turned to face Rhen.

"Welcome back," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Acceptable." Rhen stood and stretched. Her muscles screamed silently as they straightened out.

"Great. I'm all right, too, so whenever you're ready, I think we should make a run for it under cover of darkness."

"Good idea. Do you remember which way we came from?"

John paused. "Oh... uh, I think we came from the south...west? No, that's not right."

Rhen sighed. "Okay, let's mark the trees as we pass them. Directional arrows, maybe."

"I can do that. I still have my knife. You were sleeping on it, by the way. May I have my jacket back?"

Rhen tossed him the coat. "You couldn't be bothered to remove all your sharp objects from my pillow before I slept on it?"

"I figured you would be fine, on account of your abnormally thick skull," John replied nonchalantly while he donned his coat.

"You're such an ass," Rhen snapped, but she couldn't help giggling. Sometimes, John sounded exactly like Peter.

John smiled back. "Glad to see you're still in the fighting spirit."

"Let's get out of here while it lasts."

They left the temple, reinvigorated. Seeing the dryads' glowing eyes was easy in the low light, and the diurnal ravwyrns were heavy sleepers. The pair attracted no attention as they dashed for the woods. With wordless signals, they decided to travel southeast, John marking their passage every few trees. They clambered over gargantuan roots and splashed through shallow creeks. The woods were beautiful, now that Rhen was looking. Tiny fireflies winked in the cloud of dusk, fading peacefully with the navy light. The chirping crickets and croaking frogs sounded serene, in a way, unlike the harsh wildlife of Ghalarah. When the last light vanished, the sky was darker than Rhen had ever seen before, and between the treetops she picked out stars scattered across the heavens like fairy dust on black velvet.

After an hour of silent walking, Rhen dared speak. "Hey. John."

"Yeah?"

"I've got a story, too."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. I remembered this just as we left the temple. It might be important."

"Go ahead."

"I read this book about Ahriman, the demon lord. It described his history, like that thing with the princess and how he died and how he was resurrected. But that's not really what I was going to tell you."

"Good, because I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Whatever. So, some hundred years ago, when he was still a human, Ahriman said, 'I want to take over the world!' And in order to do that, he had to take away all the gods' power, or, rather, the druids' power, because they kept the world in order."

"You might be worse at telling stories than I am."

"That's a high bar. So, Ahriman had his minions, the major demons, take care of the priests and druids. Only a few of them succeeded before Ahriman was stopped, but that's not important."

"So what's important?"

"When the demons attacked the druids, they stole the druids' souls. Without their souls, the druids turned to stone."

Both were silent for a moment. A nearby cricket punctuated Rhen's story with a long chirp. John's pace slowed.

"To stone?"

"Yeah. That's all I wanted to say."

"You're telling me this because you think Vohu Manah's soul was stolen."

"Pretty much."

John scratched his head and ducked under a low tree limb. Rhen snapped a twig off the tree and fidgeted with it.

"Do you think demons did it again?"

"I have no idea. I'm just telling you what I read. Maybe someone else did this. Maybe it _is_  demons."

"That's comforting. If anything you're saying is true, we really need to get out of here."

"No contest."

They walked a little faster.

After two hours of walking, Rhen was running her left hand along the trees they passed. The soft bark left streaks of dirt on her fingers. She stopped suddenly when a sharp pain shot through her thumb.

"Ow!" she whined, pulling her hand away.

"What, did you get a splinter?" John scoffed. "What did you expect?"

"These trees aren't that splintery!" Rhen grumbled.

John walked over and grabbed her hand. He started to ease the splinter out of her thumb. "Clearly they are, or you wouldn't--hang on..."

Rhen snatched back her hand and picked out the splinter herself as John stared at the tree behind her. "What?"

"We've marked this tree." John leaned forward and pressed a hand against his arrow, which was now speckled with blood from Rhen's thumb. "And it's pointing the way we just came."

Rhen looked behind her. Marked trees she hadn't noticed lined the path they'd made behind them. It dawned on her that she'd seen this branch formation and that bush once or twice before.

"How did we mess this up?!" she groaned.

"I don't know. I guess we should try a different direction."

After three hours of walking, John decided to lift their spirits by quietly teaching Rhen a couple of his favorite shanties. After four hours, each learned that the other was fond of chasing sheep, although John hadn't in many years, and John mercilessly teased Rhen about her childish relationship with Danny. After five hours, Rhen accidentally lost John in the thick of the forest; she found him only fifteen minutes later, with a pomegranate in one pocket and a sprig of cassia in the other. After six hours and three instances of circling back to earlier paths, they sat down on a large rock and rubbed their respective temples, grasping for ideas.

After seven hours, they doubled back to the temple, which they found with ease.

They waited out the day inside. John left to forage shortly after dawn, and he returned with pockets full of berries and the remains of a sloppily butchered ravwyrn. They spent an hour defeathering the thing. With a hasty, apologetic prayer to the god of music, Rhen roasted it over the temple's holy fire. The meat didn't taste bad at all. John set some aside for later meals.

The next night was about as successful as the first. The one after that, no different. After that, Rhen lost count of how many nights they spent failing to explore the forest.

 

 

It was just before dusk one breezy evening--only the Goddess knew exactly what day it was--when Rhen recalled something John said when they first arrived in Land's End. "Do you think we should find higher ground?"

Rhen saw the annoyance in John's face when he realized he'd overlooked this possibility for days on end. The harsh light of the temple brazier reflected ferocity in his eye. "That sounds like a good idea. Let's follow the water upstream; that might lead us to a mountain."

The terrain of Land's End made it difficult to see very far ahead, but following the streams led them to a bare, grassy valley they hadn't expected. When they emerged from the trees after what Rhen felt to be a gratuitously long walk, they could see that the valley rested at the foot of a gigantic mountain.

"If we're in Land's End," breathed John, "this might be Mount Orion."

"Convenient of you to remember that now."

"Shut up. We're here now."

The mountain's sides were sheer, stony cliffs, much too steep to climb. However, the arched mouth of a cave, strange in its geometric perfection, gaped before them. Light was flooding into the cave, and Rhen could see a rapid river inside. Rhen and John silently agreed that this was the place to go, even if only because it was a significant change from the past several days.

As they approached the underground river, Rhen saw a rowboat sitting by the far bank, and a small stone altar on the near bank. She and John approached the altar. A faint purple stain colored the grey surface, and an inscription on the side read:

"FOR WHAT YOU SEEK  
THIS OFFER MEET  
WORTHY FOR THE GODS"

John furrowed his brow. "Who wrote this?"

"Nevermind that. There are loads of legends about this! I don't know a whole lot about Land's End, but... there's got to be something we can offer here."

"Right. So what's important in Land's End? Music?"

"How would we offer music on an altar?"

"I don't know! What else could it be?"

"Trees?"

"There are a million trees here. That's like offering seawater to a pirate."

"Well, what, then? Flowers? Fruit?"

John stepped back, as if startled. He reached into his pocket and brought out the pomegranate. "What about this?"

A smile slowly crept across Rhen's face. "Yeah... it's the only one we've found here. Where _did_ you find that, anyway?"

"In a box. Let's try it."

John placed the pomegranate on the stone altar and, as if possessed, the rowboat floated from the far bank to the near. The pair looked at each other and grinned. They were that much closer to getting out.

" _In a box?_ " jeered Rhen.  Her voice danced in the empty air high above them.

"Stuff it."

The rowboat took them up the river and into a breathtaking cavern. Countless waterfalls carved dips and curves into the stone, and the ceiling was so high that Rhen couldn't see it. Light wove into the cave from holes in the high walls and faraway passages. Where they exited the boat, the cave floor sloped upward toward a darker passage. There was a little faint movement up the trail. Rhen and John drew their swords and advanced cautiously.

The first ghost neither surprised nor impressed the pirates. They destroyed it with ease. The winged insects which skittered along the floor were no more difficult to defeat. Rhen kicked them over the edge of their narrow trail to ensure they wouldn't spring back to life. She couldn't see how far down they landed, and she didn't care. When the pair exited into the daylight, more beasts did their best to block their progress, to no avail. Rhen was unstoppable in her lethal dance.

About halfway up the mountain, Rhen and John discovered a cave which sounded inhabited. Some grunts and grumbles were interspersed with a quiet, feminine voice. Rhen couldn't quite hear the conversation, but it sounded more or less civilized. Wordlessly, they crept around the wall and peered inside.

Within, they saw a priestess not unlike the one Rhen had rescued in Clearwater, bound but not gagged, sitting captive on the middle shelf of an enormous bookcase. The cave was well-furnished, but all the furniture was much larger than Rhen was used to--and for good reason. The primary inhabitant of the cave appeared to be a large, grey-skinned, wart-covered ogre. He was fussing with something at his kitchen table while he and the priestess exchanged words. After a second, the ogre turned around with two ogre-sized cups of tea. Rhen looked back at John, who mirrored her bewildered expression.

"So... do we save her?" whispered John.

"Yeah, but what are we gonna do, kill the ogre?" Rhen whispered back. "I dunno how I feel about that."

"We could try to knock him out."

Rhen nodded. "I trip him, you hit him?"

"Sure hope my pommel is big enough for the job."

Rhen gave him a thumbs-up. He gave it back. Then, they rushed into the room, hollering.

Rhen darted between the ogre's legs while John vaulted off the table and grabbed onto the ogre's shoulders. Startled, the ogre grunted and dropped his teacups. They shattered to the floor and splashed hot tea on Rhen's legs. She yelped.

"I shall not have you kill an innocent creature!" said the priestess from the bookshelf. She was ignored.

The ogre was sturdy as an oak no matter how swiftly Rhen ran between his feet. Frustrated, she called to John, "I can't get him down!"

"I can barely hold on up here," John yelled back. "We may have stepped in it--ungh!"

John was flung from the ogre's shoulders to the floor. He landed in a heap next to Rhen. Seeing her struggle against the ogre, he wasted no time standing up and joining her. He swung around behind the ogre and bashed his entire body against its inner knee. The knee buckled, and he bashed in the other knee as quickly as he could. "Violet!"

Noting an opportunity, Rhen hurled herself at the ogre's feet as his heels rose. He lost his balance and began to collapse forward slowly, like a falling tree. John grabbed Rhen's hand and helped her pull herself out from under the ogre before she could be squished. There was a tremendous BOOM when their adversary fell to the neatly tiled floor. Both pirates clambered over his arms and hit the back of the ogre's head with the butts of their swords as hard as they could.

The ogre didn't get up.

Rhen blew a sigh of relief as John helped her over the ogre's unconscious body. The monster was still alive, as indicated by his hoarse breathing. The pirates helped the bound priestess down from the bookshelf, and John slashed her binds with his knife.

"My name is Oyane," she said. "Thank you for your kind deed. If you ever need my help, come to Mysten Far." The priestess smiled graciously.

"Er... sure," said Rhen, who had no intention whatsoever of needing help or going to Mysten Far.

The priestess left without another word. John looked at Rhen.

"Did we really have to do that?"

"Well, we did it. Let's just keep going."

Even spry Rhen was in desperate need of a rest when they were close to the peak of the mountain. She leaned against a rock to catch her breath while John squinted out at the hazy view from the mountainside. Thin clouds had gathered around them, obscuring the forests beyond.

"All I see right now is forest... can't tell how far it goes, either."

"Would you like someone with depth perception to give it a look?"

John turned to glare at her. "I'm shocked you can see around all the stars in your eyes, greenhorn."

"Have it your way."

"Maybe we need to go around the other side."

"Of the mountain?"

"No, violet; the other side of the... ugh, I'm too tired to be sarcastic right now."

"We've already been on the other side of the mountain! We might as well climb to the peak!"

"That's not a terrible idea, actually."

Rhen waved the notion away. "So, John. Do the creatures on this mountain seem a little weird to you?"

"I suppose I've never seen a griffon that color before."

Rhen's face hardened. "I dunno why, but I feel as if something magic is going on here. It's just a sense I get."

John visibly swallowed a retort. His expression was skeptical, but he said, "I won't argue with that."

"There are so many ghosts... there has to be a necromancer here, at the very least. I don't know how to explain the strange animals, but I really, really think there's necromancy in the air."

John sat on the rock beside Rhen. "If there's a necromancer here, do you think they're the one who stole the druid's soul?"

Rhen didn't speak for a moment. There was no way she could know so much about magic, but she felt this _intuition_ , and she couldn't deny it any more than she could deny breathing. And it wasn't as if they had much to lose were she wrong.

"Yeah, I do think that."

More silence passed. Each knew what was going to happen next.

"The druid could help us a lot, you know," said Rhen.

"I know," said John.

They stood and hiked up the next leg of the mountain trail.

With their hearts set and their eyes forward, it didn't feel long before they reached the highest accessible point of the mountain. A wooden ladder led up to a stone platform, surrounded on all sides by sheer cliff. On the cliff stood a figure, cloaked in black, with wine-colored hair and pale skin. The stranger narrowed their eyes when Rhen approached.

"You're the necromancer," said Rhen. "I can feel it."

"I am the demon Nanghaithya, and I shall see you perish before you leave this mountain," it hissed. "Ahriman will reward me well for your death!"

Before Rhen could yell her challenge, the demon cast a spell, a noxious cloud which settled over her and John. Rhen's eyes felt heavy, as if laden with glue. John sank to his hands and knees, then collapsed.

"John!"

Rhen struggled to resist the soporific spell. She slashed forward at her unarmed opponent. The demon tried to block with its arms, but Rhen was unhindered. She lopped off one of its fingers with her assault. The demon screamed, but didn't hesitate to cast another spell. Rhen felt something hard fall on her head, knocking her into a daze, her vision clouded with color. She stumbled backward and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw the demon spread its arms wide and brew a third spell. She lunged forward at its exposed throat and pierced it, recalling the first ravwyrn she'd killed, praying the trick would work twice. The demon choked, and its spell fizzled out in its hands.

Rhen dashed toward John, shaking him. "Get up, John, get up! Please help me! John!" He didn't respond. Voiceless, the demon hurled a fireball at Rhen, which hit her square in the back. She fell over with a cry.

The demon walked closer, fury in its eyes. Rhen jumped into action as best she could despite the searing pain. She grabbed John and dodged another fireball, barely saving him from the impact. With John at her feet and the cliff face at her back, Rhen bared her teeth at the demon. A third fireball began to brew in its hands. Rhen feinted for its shoulder, twirled around its back, and slammed the hilt of her sword into each of its knees. It tried to screech through the hole in its throat as it lost its balance, its legs caving. Swift as lightning, she spun back to face the demon and stared it in the eyes as she pushed it over the exposed edge of the cliff.

She watched it hit one, two, three rocky surfaces as it tumbled down the side of the mountain, showering blood with every collision. The scene was gory, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. That was a demon. She'd just killed it.

The body slammed solidly onto the lowest rocky ledge Rhen could see from her position at the top of the mountain. As she stared, something sparkling and opalescent squeezed out of the limp corpse. Whatever it was, it remained clean despite the viscera around it. It slowly floated back up the mountain to where Rhen stood.

John roused behind her. "Rhen... demon?"

"Killed it," she said, breathless, gazing at the floating thing.

"Oh, good job. Knew you could do it. What is that?"

"I don't know." She reached out to touch it.

And, suddenly, she knew what it was, as the soul of Vohu Manah made contact with something deep inside her.

She grabbed the soul with both hands now. "Come on. We're going back to the temple. I know how to get us out of here."

The magical energy radiating from the druid's soul coalesced into a portal by the cliff face where Nanghaithya once stood. Clutching the soul, Rhen stepped through it. John, wide-eyed and uncertain, followed her. A few tingly seconds later, they emerged in the valley.

The forest seemed to know where they wanted to go. They followed their arrows backwards toward the temple and, miraculously, arrived before it in minutes. The dryad kept her distance as they charged into the temple. Rhen marched up to the stone druid and pressed the soul into its chest.

Vohu Manah stretched to life as the magical energy restored his flesh. His pale green hair and pink robes danced as if teased by wind before settling.

"Ugh! I feel so tired..." The druid rubbed his eyes, then smiled broadly when he saw Rhen.

Rhen smiled back. "A demon stole your soul."

"That explains it." The druid sighed and shook his head. "I must return to Aveyond. Sword Singer, will you take me?"

Rhen and John exchanged confused glances. "Sword Singer?" said Rhen.

Vohu Manah was taken aback. "You! I can feel the music in your step.... Surely you know your own song?"

"This is nonsense," muttered John.

Rhen cleared her throat. "Uh, I'm not sure what you mean. But can you please tell us how to get out of Land's End? Our ship crashed nearby, and I really need to go home."

"I can clear the way for you," said Vohu Manah, reluctant. "I must journey to Aveyond. Please, when you find passage across the sea, take me to Aveyond so I may speak with the Oracle."

"Do we look like the ferry service to you?" groused John.

Rhen slapped his arm. "Be respectful."

"Fine. No, we're not going to Aveyond. If you want to go to Clearwater, on the other hand, we'd be happy to take you for fifty gold pieces."

"What my companion is trying to say," added Rhen hastily, "is that we have one destination and no business here. I'm going home, and that's all."  All she wanted was to return to the "real world" and learn how much time they had missed, although she dreaded this knowledge almost as much as she craved it.  She wanted to find her family.  Aveyond was somebody else's quest.

His face drawn in, Vohu Manah sighed through his nose. "I cannot force you. You saved my life, and I owe you a debt. I will clear the way through Land's End to the confluence with the Wildwood." He closed his eyes, then opened them. "It is done. May your journey be safe.”

"Thank you, druid," said Rhen, bowing her head like she used to do at Green Rock Temple. "We'll be going."

John scratched his ear and cast one last regretful look at the skull on its warded pedestal. He waved it off and muttered, "Thanks."

With purpose, Rhen and John left the temple. A new, grassy path sculpted the forest along its edges. As they followed the path, no monsters looked their way. Rhen expected to feel a weight lift from her shoulders, but instead, it seemed the old weight had been replaced with a different one, tense and looming, heavier than any other she'd felt.

In less than an hour, Rhen felt the grass under her feet grow coarse and scant. The dirt grew darker, the trees austere, the undergrowth scant among the fallen, brown needles. Thin smoke rose no more than half a mile in the distance. When she turned around, she saw no trace of Land's End or Mount Orion.

She took a deep breath of the crisp air. Her senses were greeted by the distinctive, chilled scent of autumn. With occasional brown leaves crunching beneath her feet, Rhen knew she'd missed not only the end of spring, but also the entirety of summer; likely her seventeenth birthday as well. She pushed down the fear that she'd missed more than one summer while lost in Land's End.  This new air was familiar to her, and she was ready to face it.

"Come on, John; we're almost out of this mess."

They grinned at one another, and John draped an arm over her shoulder as they traversed the slim dirt path. Rhen forced a laugh and realized that it made her feel much lighter. They skipped together over a bridged stream toward the source of the promising smoke. In their giddy relief, neither stopped to notice the odd duo--a woman, red hair cloaked under her white robes, and a green-haired boy in an Academy uniform--on the other side of the stream, unceremoniously shoveling up the contents of an unmarked grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RETROACTIVE EDIT NOTE: Partway through chapter 6, I realized I wanted Rhen and John to experience "fairy time" in Land's End and emerge not a week after they arrived, but six full months. This addition makes a lot of things both smoother and more faithful to canon starting in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, I pinkie-promise the rest of the chapters won't be as long and meandering as this one!


	6. Lars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You thought Rhen was a ridiculous teenager? Wait 'til you meet this guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for mild abuse & slavery, mention of teenage drinking.

Lars Tenobor was the boy who was friends with every other kid in the neighborhood not because the other kids particularly liked him but because it was much less of a hassle for them to pretend to like him.

Fortunately for him if not for others, he was beginning to realize this. Fortunately for others without question, he did not take his newfound awareness out on the other kids. Fortunately for someone, perhaps, but unfortunately for him, he began the uncomfortable and perplexing process of growing a conscience, as if it were a new tooth meant to sprout in infancy but instead forced to cram itself painfully into an otherwise fully-developed adult jaw. When he asked Ylitta her opinion on which ball game to play after morning lessons, she looked at him as if he'd begun bleeding profusely from the mouth.

It wasn't as if he'd gotten _t_ _hat_  much nicer. He still rolled his eyes at old people, spat on the side of the road, and treated his neighbors' slaves like inexpensive furniture. And he generally cared more about insulting his neighbors by calling their furniture "inexpensive" than he cared about what the furniture thought of its station. But, at some point prior to his acceptance at Shadwood Academy, he discovered that it mattered whether people liked him, and that it mattered _which_ people liked him. He discovered that people cheer louder and smile wider when you impress them, and he discovered that he yearned for such approval.

Months later, Lars couldn't remember exactly how or when he made these small discoveries. He could, however, clearly remember the moment during this grueling period of late-stage growth when his latent interpersonal awareness abruptly switched all the way on. The night before it happened, the night when he snatched the note from his front door with shaky hands, he was enthralled. He couldn't sleep as he tossed and turned, his mind filled with images of secret, shadowy master sorcerers. Why would a great master take a shine to him? What powerful magics lay dormant within him to compel such a covert mentorship? As if he could relax now.

The following morning, however, when Rona shrieked for her breakfast for the ninth time before storming into the kitchen and shrieking some more, Lars knew exactly what had happened to the slave girl, and who had left him his note. To his surprise, his first emotion was not disappointment. It wasn't quite excitement, either. It was...  _embarrassment._

He was only a little embarrassed that a slave girl had put him in his place--he was _mostly_  embarrassed because he suddenly realized that there was a place in which he was meant to be put. His perspective had been wrenched apart, leaving him to reconstruct his world with new bricks. It had never occurred to him, for instance, that a slave might run away. He realized he'd subconsciously believed that all slaves were born to be slaves; _produced,_ even, as one would produce teapots for the explicit purpose of brewing tea. This girl ran. She fled a life of simple servitude in pursuit of dangerous passage back to... well, back to wherever she'd come from. A home. Maybe a family. It dawned on him that the "Peter" for whom she cried was likely someone who cared for her, and she for him. And she _missed_  him.

Lars couldn't help but compare himself in a few ways. First, he imagined that he himself could be captured and sold into slavery just as the girl surely was; he asked himself whether he would try to escape (probably but not definitely) and whether he would succeed (this is where he decided to think about something else). Second, he imagined what it would be like to miss someone.

His friends? The notion was lukewarm.

His father? Lars didn't remember the man at all.

His mother?

Lars felt jealousy simmering in his stomach toward this slave girl who was more a girl than a slave, this girl who had loved ones worth missing. This girl who thought she knew more about magic than he, a gifted young sorcerer. Well, apprentice sorcerer. _Potential_ apprentice sorcerer. His acceptance into Shadwood Academy was, to his chagrin, still pending.

The worst part was, it seemed that she _did_  know more about magic than he. In a scramble to honor and please his secret mentor, who he thought may still have been watching from the trees that humid night, Lars took the advice on the note. He wiped away his tears, which he'd cried most nights for a month out of fear he'd never leave Ghalarah. He spent five minutes stretching, five more minutes relaxing each limb individually, and five more searching for a stance which both rooted him and maximized his looseness. Then a mosquito flew in front of his face. He was so startled he fell backward. Then he laughed, and as all of his nerves were released at once, he twisted his hand and cast a fireball so massive it nearly set Rona's roof ablaze.

And, delighted with himself, he cast several more spells with ease before going inside.

Knowing that his secret mentor was a slave girl around his age was humiliating to the remnants of Old Lars, yes, but New Lars felt himself expand with the world, slowly understanding the realms of possibility which filled him up like water in a washtub. Suddenly, he had to know everything about her. From where did she hail? How was she so familiar with magic at such an early age? Why was her hair that color? Why did she bother advising Lars before leaving? Lars couldn't listen to Rona's grievances with his head more full of questions than it had ever been before. He waited for her silence. This took several hours. It wasn't until lunch, for which Rona escorted Lars to the noodle house rather than making the effort to cook, when she paused for air and a spoonful of broth.

Lars said, "I'm going to Veldarah to plead early acceptance at Shadwood."

Rona spat out her broth. "What did you just say?"

By then, Lars had busied his mouth with an enormous quantity of noodles, so Rona was left to continue yelling.

"You expect me to lose both my slave _and_  my son in one day?! How much more difficult do you intend to make my life, hmm? Want to take away my chairs, too? My walls? Heaven knows I already need to get one of those fixed; might as well take the rest of them, too!"

After a regretful swallow, Lars spoke again. "Veldarah isn't that far. If you want, I can come home on weekends. Or, if you wanted to visit--"

"Ohh, visit! Oh, _visit_  he says." By now, patrons from nearby tables were eyeing the Tenobors warily. "You want _me_  to drag _my_  arthritic joints and _my_  chronic headaches across the _entire_  jungle into that big, noisy city, which is _miles_  long, by the way, in order to see my own and only son?! All of this to see the boy to whom I gave _birth?!_ "

"Well, I was going to go eventually anyway," Lars said.

" _Are you talking back to me, young man?!_ " Rona hollered. Their neighbors, who were used to Rona's outbursts like they were used to rain on Saturdays, resumed ignoring her. "Now, who is going to pack you up and escort you across the jungle? The emissaries aren't here! There is no caravan until the end of the week! What are you going to do, walk on foot?"

"If you want me to, I can wait until the end of the week," Lars reasoned.

"Don't you try to worm out of this, young man! You have made me very upset! When we return home from lunch, you are _grounded_  until those emissaries arrive in  _three months_  when they are supposed to!" She closed her mouth, and Lars thought she was finished, and then, "And that is my final word!"

She took a sip of tea. Lars slouched.

He'd already made up his mind before they returned home. The solution was obvious, even moreso now that he'd seen it happen more or less before his own eyes: he would run away from the Tenobor house. It couldn't be too difficult. He knew the perils of the Ghalarah-Veldarah highway, and he was confident that, with his new trick, even the wild chickens would be duck soup. If a penniless, foreign slave girl could do it, he knew that _he_ could. He'd saved enough of his allowance to feed himself for a little while. Hopefully he wouldn't be expected to cook... or wash his own laundry. Surely those services would be provided at such a prestigious school.

So, under cover of night, he took another page out of the slave girl's book and ran away. Sneaking out of the house was no problem; he'd been doing that for years. The torn note left by the girl was tucked securely in his right pocket, a sigil for the sorcery Lars knew he had within himself. He ducked low under the bridgehouse window so the guard wouldn't see him cross. Blasting a few aggressive spiders took him no time at all. The sun was still deep beneath the horizon when he reached the city gates. He was pleased with himself, and wondered whether the slave girl's escape the night before had proceeded so smoothly. Maybe the student could surpass the master after all.

It only dawned on him when he reached the school grounds that he had several hours before the school, or most other things in the city, would be open for business. Grouchy, he turned around and headed for the inn.

After five inexpensive hours of sleep, Lars felt a little less optimistic. He was glad he'd made his escape the very night he conceived of it. There was something sobering about sleep, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't have executed his plan if he'd slept on it. Regardless, he was determined to follow his newly-forged path, now that he was on it. He stretched, gathered his things, strode downstairs, and opened the inn door to the city outside.

Three men in studded black armor were hovering around the center of town, just in view of the inn. Lars immediately recognized them as Tenobor guards--mercenaries kept on retainer by his family. He'd seen them before, standing sentinel at family events, intimidating pickpockets and panhandlers, collecting tribute from small businesses on Tenobor lands.... He grew up around them, and the ones he knew personally were all right, but he was always very glad that he existed on the Tenobor side of the equation.

Although it occurred to him now that these men were here to retrieve him. He shut the door.

He rushed past the innkeeper back toward his rented room, where he opened the window and slid out onto the roof. The inn stood alone, although the nearest roof was within jumping distance. That roof was steeply sloped, and separated from the inn by a tall fence. Lars grimaced. He didn't have much choice. He jumped to the sloped roof.

Just barely clearing the fence, Lars was able to scramble onto the roof and clamber over to the north side. He jumped down and felt the shock of landing wash from his feet to his scalp. He could see the mercenaries strolling toward the row of trees near the guild halls. The only other way through the city to the school was over the flat shopping complex roof. Luckily, there was a staircase up to that roof. Lars waited until all the mercenaries' backs were turned before sprinting up the white stairs. Without breaking his stride, he charged forward and plummeted to the ground. This time, he fell on his bottom.

He had no time to catch his wind. One mercenary, suspicious about the noise, trotted up the stairs onto the roof behind Lars. Just as Lars stood up, the mercenary caught his eye.

"Around the complex!" the mercenary shouted, already running back down the stairs. "North side, north side! Go!"

Lars' heart doubled its usual rate, and he turned and hurtled toward the academy, praying they wouldn't run straight after him. He plowed through the heavy wooden door and into the main hall.

The inside was as serene as the outside, full of polished marble and sparkling fountains, although Lars broke the tranquility with his breathless entrance. The signage indicated that the headmaster's office was the first room on the left. Lars tripped into the room, catching himself on a bookcase.

Headmaster Harald, who sat at a massive desk covered in papers, didn't seem startled by Lars' sudden entry. He raised his head from his book and asked, "What can I do for you, lad?"

Lars cleared his throat. He'd rehearsed this speech in his head at least a dozen times on the way to Veldarah, but he spoke as quickly as he could now. "I'm Lars Tenobor, Emissary Ghelda came to meet me in Ghalarah a couple months ago for the admittance test, my acceptance has been pending but I know that I'm ready now, I wish to be reviewed for admittance immediately." He took a quick breath through his nose. "I know I'll impress you."

The headmaster shut his book and stared deep into Lars' earnest face. "Show me why you're ready."

Lars did his best to relax his body despite his mounting fear of every opening door he could hear echoing through the hallways. He closed his eyes and focused on himself. He felt the slight weight of the slave girl's note in his right pocket. _I know I have this in me now, and I always will._

His shoulders fell back, and--he couldn't resist the theatrics--a dove flew from his outstretched hand. Then another. Then several more, and then, the doorway was full of doves, cooing and flapping.

Harald ignored the doves, focusing his attention on Lars, scanning his posture. "You are ready, young man." He opened a drawer at his desk and removed a token and a key. "These are for you: your admissions token, and your room key."

Lars stepped forward through the mass of birds. They began to clear away from the door as Lars took the token from Harald's hand.

"Master Lars Tenobor!" boomed a voice from the doorway. The doves fled from the noise, revealing the three mercenaries standing just outside the headmaster's office. "Mistress Rona sent us to bring you home. Show us your hands and step forward."

The headmaster, calm as ever, raised a hand. "Enough. This is a student of Shadwood academy. He bears a Shadwood token. A token of the Empress. Do you contest this?"

The mercenaries shifted out of their aggressive stances, uncertain of what to do. Taking the cue, Lars held out his token for them to see.

"I... What should we tell Mistress Rona, then, Master Lars?"

Lars smirked, feeling suddenly and gloriously untouchable. "Don't worry. She probably won't let you tell her much of anything."

"Yes, sir."

"But I'd stick around through the storm, if I were you. I think she could use the company."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

The mercenaries turned and marched back to the academy doors. Lars turned back to the headmaster, who chuckled when their eyes met.

"I hope you find academy life agreeable, Master Tenobor. You may go. Oh, and please, take your birds with you. I have a number of sensitive documents on this--oh my."

Lars snatched up the bird who had just made use of one of the headmaster's files. "Yes, sir."

No further words were exchanged as Lars left the office. He guided his birds out through the front door, clutching the token and key in his right hand. After that, navigating the academy was a bit arduous. Lars walked in on two classrooms in session before finding the hallway to the student living quarters.

Ghelda was meditating by the pool in the courtyard when Lars found her. He passed by her once to enter the Sorcerer quarters and find his room, but when he returned, he decided to rouse her.

She opened an eye when he approached. "Master Tenobor. I must confess some surprise. Headmaster Harald himself admitted you, then?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Ghelda rose to her feet. "Congratulations. I'll show you around the academy, and then we will begin."

Lars listened intently during the academy tour. It was clear to him, since yesterday, that there were people in Aia with wisdom valuable enough for him to accept. Before the slave girl, he'd never met anyone he believed to be in possession of ideas he couldn't figure out for himself. Now, things were changing. His world was changing.

Lars was initiated. He was given a class schedule. He attended his first class.

He attended many, many more.

He learned summoning magic. He learned combat magic. He learned techniques of mundane combat, as well. He learned natural magic. He learned domestic magic. He learned how to frost a cake with a single twirl of his finger.

Between classes, he stretched, meditated, breathed. He ritually kept the girl's note in his uniform pocket, switching it out on laundry days. He watched student drama unfold, but did not participate. He ate a lot of fruit. He stopped thinking about how crucial it was for him to relax. He just relaxed.

And he became the highest performing student in his class.

He shared no secrets and made no friends. The other students called him arrogant, called him a rich snob with more money than sense. He didn't let himself care about them. They could dance and laugh and play games with one another as much as they wanted. He didn't want in. That's what he told himself over and over again, every night when he tried to sleep through all the tension he'd pushed down during the day.

Rona came to visit once. She was purchasing a new dress robe in Veldarah. Lars only saw her because he was reading in the park next to the tailor. He told her he had the highest grades in his class. She told him she'd bought a new slave.

His friends from home came to visit once. They were there for no reason other than to see him. He told them how he missed lounging in the woods at home. They asked if he could buy them sake in the city. He said no. After supplying the requisite amount of attention and company, his friends left the following morning.

There were no slaves on campus. It was a small thing for Lars to notice, but he did. Rona had a slave before she bought the purple-haired girl, but he was old, and he died a week or so prior to the girl's arrival. Lars always regarded him as one might regard a workhorse: valuable for his strength, dexterity, and general efficiency; to be fitted with blinders so he did not shirk his duties in favor of the surrounding world; best when quiet, and ideally housed outdoors. When he died, Lars was instructed to perform basic household operations in his stead. That didn't go too well. Lars was then exceptionally relieved by the presence of the new girl, even though she was noisy and not too good at her job. He began to think that perhaps he'd been too exuberant in his antagonism. This girl was no workhorse--she must be a master sorcerer, displaced due to some executive deviance. It was no wonder she escaped as quickly as she did. Some nights, Lars laid awake imagining what circumstances led to her enslavement. Maybe she was a lich. Maybe she was a prodigy. Maybe she was a princess.

Lars had plenty of time to spin fairy tales about the girl who'd guaranteed him entry into the Academy. Once he'd lived here for a month or so, he realized there was little of interest in Veldarah. Sometimes the nobles threw parties, and he attended a couple of those. Tiberius had a selection of books Lars hadn't yet read, so he borrowed a few and spent his free time hunting for new, peaceful spots to devour them. He thought he'd found quietude by the pond in the public park, but this fellow Levus kept coming by and reciting contrived monologues to the woman Tiberius was courting, so he kept away from the park.

The only other consistently interesting thing in Veldarah was the pawn shop. Lars was granted a strict allowance since moving to the city, but even when he had extra money to spend, he much preferred to watch the shop's stock and imagine what series of events led to the pawning of certain items. There was one silver locket he particularly enjoyed, which turned up each week containing the face of a different person. On two separate occasions, it displayed the likeness of a woman with an impressive shock of bright red hair streaked with white. Lars wondered what her story was.

It was on a visit to this pawn shop that Lars discovered the ring.

He wouldn't have even noticed the thing normally. It was some cheap metal, most likely steel. If he'd learned anything from Rona, it was how to identify cheap metal and separate it from the valuable stuff. Even the oft-discarded silver locket was worth more than this ring. But...

But something washed over him when he entered the store, something like a warm shiver. A sense he couldn't explain, tactile yet nearly visual, drew his attention toward the ring beneath the display case. When he looked at the ring, he was nearly blinded by its somehow chromatic exigency.

"What's this?" he asked the shopkeeper, not especially concerned with the answer, his eyes fixed on the ring he knew he would soon touch.

"That's an exact replica of a priestess ring. A noblewoman from Ghalarah sold it to me. She claimed it came from across the great Eldredth Ocean!"

"An exact replica, huh," Lars muttered, too fixated on the ring to speak up.

The shopkeeper cleared his throat, a bit uncomfortable. "It's on sale today! Only ten pennies."

Lars briefly severed his gaze from the ring to sort ten gold pennies from his purse. He slapped the money onto the transaction counter. "The ring, please."

The shopkeeper counted Lars' money, deposited it into his register, and unlocked the jewelry case. He plucked the ring from the faux velvet cushion and dropped it into Lars' hand.

_POOF._

Lars was thrown backward as something roughly human-shaped materialized before him. After the magical smoke cleared, Lars could see her. She had the height and skin tone of a typical mainland woman. Her hair, the color of a Sedonan poppy, blazed against her soft white robes. She was speaking as soon as she appeared.

"I've finally found you! While you wore the ring, I knew where you were, but shortly after I gave it to you, you disappeared from--wait, who are you? Where's the girl?"

Lars blinked, a little numb. "Ah... hello."

The woman glanced at the ring in his hand. "You! You bear my ring... but only the girl, or some item imbued with her essence, could have summoned me here." She was tall enough to look Lars squarely in the eye. His hands trembled a little. "Where is Rhen?"

"I...." Lars' mind raced as he tried to think of an appropriate answer.

"Pardon me," said the shopkeeper, clearly regaining his voice as well. "I must, ah, ask you to leave, as we have a strict, uh, entry-to-the-shop-must-be-made-through-the-door-only policy. Please?"

The woman acknowledged him with a nod. "Thank you, sir, for keeping my ring safe and pristine in this fine... pawn shop." Her eyebrows reached for one another high on her forehead. "We shall leave."

She grabbed Lars' arm and dragged him from the shop.

When they were a safe ten feet from the shop entrance, the woman began grilling Lars. "You're going to tell me what you know about the girl who bore this ring, and you're going to tell me how you were able to summon me. Is she safe? Where can I find her?"

Lars' voice finally came out as a high-pitched stammer. "I-I-I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am; I don't know what girl--"

"Rhen! Darzon!" she demanded. "From Clearwater! Long purple hair, matching eyes, about as docile as your average mountain lion!"

 _Rhen._  Her name was Rhen.

Lars felt all the heat in his body rush to his face.

"Ma'am, I... that girl is... she was a... a slave, in m--"

"A slave?!" wailed the woman. "Oh, this is a complete disaster. How could she be enslaved while she bore my ring?"

"She wore no ring when first I met her." Lars suddenly, acutely recalled the first time he saw her, the way he mocked her to impress his friends, the way they cackled at her expense. He wondered why she didn't smite them all where they stood.

"This is all my fault." The woman was quieter now, remorseful. "I should have guarded her far better than I did."

Lars was lost for words.

She sighed. "Anyway... how did you summon me? You must have something of hers."

Lars reached into his pocket and removed the note Rhen left him. "I have this."

She took the note, examined it. She looked back at Lars. "My name is Talia. I'm a priestess of Mysten Far. I'm going to see the empress now. Walk with me and tell me everything you know."

"Yes, ma'am."

"What is your name?"

"Lars Tenobor, ma'am."

A tiny smile broke her severe expression. "Is 'ma'am' a unique honorific in Veldarah, or have you two surnames?"

The joke took Lars by surprise. He realized he'd been carrying tremendous pressure in his spine, and he rolled it out with a smile. "Just Lars Tenobor. Lars is fine."

The priestess began walking northeast, guiding him toward the imperial palace. "Lars is a strong name. Please call me Talia, Lars."

"If you say so, Talia-Lars."

Talia chuckled.

Lars told Talia everything he knew about Rhen, which wasn't much, before they reached the palace together. Talia didn't seem surprised that Rhen had escaped slavery, but neither of them could puzzle out why she hadn't yet returned to Clearwater six months later.

At the doors of the palace, Talia asked, "Have you ever met the empress before? I ask because she's known for her temper--"

"She's my cousin," said Lars, calm as could be. Talia raised her eyebrows.

"How fortuitous."

Talia and Lars entered the palace. They walked down the long, velvet carpet to stand before Lars' cousin, Empress Telin De'Baron.

Talia bowed. "Empress, I come with news of the prophecy."

Telin laughed her signature, bleating laugh, a laugh which never failed to roll Lars' eyes. She said, "Priestess. Surely you jest. This is my cousin, Lars. I was present for his birth. He's _not_ the one."

"No, he isn't." Talia shook her head. "But the girl is missing. Lars was the last one in contact with her, that I know of."

"Really?" The empress met Lars' eyes. "You knew the lost daughter?"

Lars' lips tightened, but he reminded himself to keep loose. "You haven't visited in a while, Telin. We got a new slave after the old one died, and--"

"She was your _slave?!_ " screeched the empress. For a moment, the room was scared silent, only the echo of Telin's voice surging through the marble halls. Then, she broke into a frenzy of laughter. "That's too rich, cousin! Your slave, the lost--"

"Yes, it is a bit ironic," Talia interjected, cutting the empress off. "I must continue my search for the girl. The aura she leaves behind on her abandoned possessions is strong, but it wears off over time."

"Is that so?"

"It is, although... in truth, I can't say for sure that she really is the prophesied one. I don't have the sight."

Telin nodded. "I understand. ORACLE!"

Lars was poked by a bony finger.

He turned and yelped when he saw the old, hunchbacked woman, robed in blue. Oddly, he could see straight through her body to the guard behind her. The woman was definitely not there a second ago. Lars couldn't recall seeing her enter.

"What is this I see?" she wheezed. "A child, bearing a strange aura not of his own creation?"

"Oracle, this is Lars," said Talia. "He carries something left behind by the girl. Can you tell us whether she truly is the prophesied one?"

The Oracle snatched the paper from Lars' uniform and scrutinized it. "Hm... indeed." She stuffed the paper back into Lars' pocket.

Talia's stance was firm. "Thank you, Oracle. That confirms it."

"Dreamer, is that you?" said the Oracle, peering at Talia. "How be it that you have left the dream?"

Telin gasped and stared hard at Talia. "Priestess... _you_ are the dreamer now?"

"I was summoned by the Oracle for the position many years ago," said Talia.

"The Guardian of Dreams can't walk the waking world!" cried the empress. "What dire threat could possibly summon you here?"

"'Beware lest the dreamer wakes,'" recited Talia. "It's true. I'm awake. Ahriman's demons have taken the dreamland."

"So, they've finally arrived," muttered the Oracle.

"Yes. I came for the girl as soon as I fell."

"Unfortunately, the girl is not among our number," said the Oracle, her tone even and grim. "She must be set upon her path."

"I need to find the girl, but--what should we do?"

The Oracle tilted her transparent face to the ceiling. "One way or another, the druids must be summoned to gather in Aveyond. The girl must be prepared to fulfill her own destiny."

 _"_ _Aveyond?"_  whispered Lars. Oh, what he would give...

"Can't you call the druids yourself?" asked Talia. She sounded a little weary.

"I've tried, yet something blocks me."

"The demons," said the empress, her voice nearly a growl. "The druids may be in grave danger."

"Or, as I fear, this danger has already struck its mark," said the Oracle. "I must go. Dreamer, you are to meet me at the temple with the rest of the druids. Your part in this continues. The nightmares are awake."

The Oracle vanished in a swift sparkle. Talia turned back to the Empress.

"I'll leave at once to track the girl."

The empress was silent for a bit, holding her chin in her hand. Lars would never say it, but her posture in that throne was terrible. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Telin hadn't yet reached her thirtieth birthday. Other times, Lars thought she herself had forgotten just how old she was.

Lars had developed an ache for involvement the minute the priestess told him of her quest. He didn't feel the tug of destiny, or in any other way believe that he was _meant_  to go, but he wanted it so badly. He was bored out of his mind at school, always ten lessons ahead of his classmates, and he longed for adventure--and if he told himself the whole truth, he would have known that he felt as lonely as a boy of sixteen could possibly feel.

"I'll go with her," he said, his mouth moving before he'd given it leave to speak.

The Empress drew back in her seat, and Talia squinted at him.

"You're still a student, Lars," chided Telin.

"I'm one of the strongest magic wielders in the Empire, even if I'm still an apprentice," Lars asserted. He knew with perfect confidence that he was correct. Something inside him was pushing out, and right now, right here in the palace, he felt as if he could do anything.

"That's... true. Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures, and he'll flourish under your personal tutelage, Priestess. Lars, you may go." Telin sighed through her nose. "I'll inform your teachers of your departure."

Lars flashed a toothy smile. "Thank you, Exalted One."

"Can your sarcasm, brat," said Telin. "You know I could have you thrown in jail instead."

"I must go pack," he added hastily, backing toward the door.

"Thank you for your audience, empress," said Talia.

"You are dismissed," declared the empress. "Next time you return, I expect the world to be saved!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and chapter 7 were initially one, very long chapter. This means I'll be posting chapter 7 within the next couple of days, after a final edit. It also means you're gonna get some Bonus Lars. I hope you enjoy my iteration of Lars, because I sure as heck love writing him!


	7. Talia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lars learns some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part 2 of what was originally chapter 6, with some additions!

The following hour of Lars' life was a blur. He packed his things, bought a little bread and cheese for the road, and met Talia by the city gates.

They traveled west first. Talia guessed Rhen's first move would be to seek passage across the ocean to the Western Isle. While they walked, Talia asked Lars all about what he'd learned in school. He told her first about Rhen's advice and how it changed his entire approach to magic. When he described his lessons, Talia seemed more interested in where he struggled than where he excelled, which only pissed him off. It took half an hour for her to finally drop the subject. She continued pointing out landmarks and noting new possibilities for their search even though Lars pointedly wouldn't respond. He wondered whether all priestesses were this irritating.

They finally reached the docks after a few hours of walking. Talia questioned all the sailors, but only the stoic ferryman recalled seeing a girl with a long purple braid around six months prior. He told them she'd met with a man in red and they left the docks by land together. He didn't know where they'd gone.

Lars grew bored of the sailors and wandered around the marina. There were few buildings, and fewer seemed inhabited. Disappointed and tired, Lars kicked a small rock around the ill-paved marina. It rolled between two warehouses. He followed it and kicked it again. The rock's path was interrupted as it came to rest against a book discarded on the ground.

Lars squinted at the book in the dim shadow of the warehouse wall. Something was written on the front.

_"Rhen Darzon."_

He didn't realize he'd spoken the name aloud until he heard it echo between the buildings. He squatted next to the book and picked it up.

The leftmost page which had lain face-down against the ground read, _"1. PICK UP LAUNDRY 2. SWEEP HALL 3. SQUASH ATTIC SPIDERS"_

The opposite page read, _"I'm going to leave soon. Rona makes me so angry when she speaks to me that I feel as if some monster takes hold of my body. I have to fight to keep it down. Gods, I hate Rona. Forget her, forget this place, forget everything, forget revenge. Who needs revenge? Rona and Lars will kill each other one day. Knowing that is plenty for me."_

Lars shut the book slowly, lifting his face to the sky. He sat like that for a few minutes, his mind searching for an answer to the churning contention in his gut.

That's how Talia found him. She looked at the book in his hand first, and then at the cinch in his face. She crouched down beside him.

"Lars," she said quietly. "How are you holding up?"

"Absolutely fine." Lars' voice cracked.

"Okay." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Did you find that book here?"

"Yeah."

"May I see it?"

Lars handed Talia the book. She examined the cover, flipped through a few pages.

"Rhen's journal," she murmured. "That's a good find, Lars. Did you read it?"

"A little bit."

"Did you find anything indicating where she might go?"

"Not really, no."

"That's okay." Talia stood up and tucked the journal into her satchel. "I have a guess. There's someone... well, someone very important who lives in the Wildwoods. Someone who would protect Rhen from the moment he saw her. He might be the man in red."

Lars stood beside Talia. "We're going to the Wildwoods?"

"As soon as you're ready, yes. There's an inn down there, and we can rest and resupply once we reach it." Talia squinted up at the sky. "It's a little after noon now... it will be dark by the time we get there. Do you have enough food for the day?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Talia smiled at him until he met her eyes. "Lars, if there's anything you want to talk about, I'm happy to listen."

Those words were unfamiliar to Lars, and he had to process them slowly, one word at a time. He couldn't figure out what they meant, what she wanted from him. Hesitantly, he said, "Okay."

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes."

They left the alley and then the marina, taking the breezy road south. As the hills grew steeper and rockier around them, the sun nestled itself into its cozy western horizon, glowing red with contentment. Lars was unused to the breeze outside of his jungle home, and he found himself shivering a little. As they walked, Talia demonstrated a spell to keep him warm.

The Wildwoods were not a locale one could stumble into by accident. A strong wind blew behind Lars and Talia as they approached the edge of the cliff marking the descent into the forested valley. Grass gave way to dirt, which gave way to pure stone, smoothed by countless years of roving feet. Lars knew he'd lose his balance if he looked over the edge, so he didn't look. Autumn crickets chirped as Talia led the way down the precarious, time-worn stairs. A flock of crows assaulted them midway through their descent. Talia was impressed with how handily Lars dispatched them, although she cautioned him against fighting with unruly flames in the dry forest.

The sky was a caliginous blue when Lars and Talia arrived at the Wildwood Tavern in the basin of the valley. They settled down by the fire in the dining room. Talia insisted she'd filled up on the purple berries she'd picked on the way down the cliff, but Lars bought her a bowl of stew anyway.

"A magnanimous gesture, young Tenobor," she said, letting the steam from the stew warm her face.

Her implication was not lost on Lars. "We aren't that bad," he insisted, immediately defensive. "The Tenobor family grew wealthy at the same time as it created jobs for the unemployed citizens of the Eastern Empire!"

"Textbook." The word was dismissive, but Talia's tone was sympathetic. "I think someone taught you that and didn't ask you to think about it very hard."

Lars clenched a fist. "Whatever sort of person you think I am... you wouldn't understand! You don't know me."

"No, Lars. I don't." Talia sighed and looked down at her bowl before meeting Lars' eyes again. "I apologize for what I said. I think it's important for us to reserve our judgments if we're going to work together. And I would truly like to get to know you. You seem like a bright lad."

Lars sat back, narrowing his eyes. She just... complimented him. Unprompted. What was her angle?

"Anyway," she continued, "thank you for dinner. I usually abstain from meat, but, ah, I believe that's all they have to offer at this establishment."

"Oh. I... I'll remember that."

"Will you?" She smiled. "That's sweet."

Lars only belatedly realized he should have smiled back.

Talia sipped her stew. "Tomorrow, we should search the Wildwoods for my friend, Devin. If Rhen isn't with him, he may have information for us regarding her whereabouts. Will you be ready to resume our quest at dawn?"

Lars nodded, his mouth full of venison.

"Good. His hut shouldn't be far from here. How would you feel about a quick lesson while we walk?"

"A weffon?" Lars blinked, then swallowed. "You want to teach me something?"

"Yes. Would you like that?"

"This has to be the first time a teacher has asked me whether I _want_  to do my classwork."  _She's not even getting paid for this._

Talia chuckled. Something about her laugh made Lars feel at ease. "Well, this is hardly a traditional classroom scenario."

Lars leaned his chair back on its hind feet, stretching his arms above his head. "Sure. I'm exhausted tonight, though, so as soon as I finish my dinner, I'm going to bed."

Talia stifled a yawn. "My thoughts exactly. I'll pay for our beds tonight."

"The purse of the magnanimous Tenobor flows freely, priestess."

"Oh, the wit. Finish your supper, court jester."

The silence in which they ate was no longer one of dubiety, but of ease. Their stomachs full, they paid for two beds and hiked up the inn's splintering wooden stairs to their room. Without thinking twice, Lars dropped his satchel beside the bed next to the window, settled onto the off-white sheets, and busied himself removing his earrings. Talia stood facing the bed against the far corner and unlatched the clasps on her robe. She shed the white cloth gently and folded it on the bed. Under the robes, she wore a simple green shift tied around the waist with a sheer scarf. She unknotted the scarf and deftly wrapped it around her orange hair, securing it with a tie from a pocket in her robes. Lars finished with his left earring and moved on to his right.

Talia conjured a little water with which she splashed her face clean. Lars watched intently, and when she was done, he mimicked her gestures as closely as he could. To his satisfaction, his hands grew dewy and slowly produced enough water to fill a teacup. He grinned, and then remembered he'd learned very similar synthesizing spells at school long before Talia and her odd mainland techniques showed up. Regardless, he dumped the water on his hair and messed it around, doing his best to negate the day's sweat.

What she did next, Lars had never tried at school. With a quick swish of her hand, Talia summoned a small stringed instrument, some variety Lars hadn't seen before. It hummed ever so slightly as it materialized.

"Lars, do you mind if I practice a little before I sleep? I haven't had much time."

"Go ahead." Lars unwrapped his academy uniform and dumped it next to the bed. He wore a silken undershirt and cotton briefs, both of which were sweaty and a little dirt-stained. Talia plucked at the instrument, acclimating to its timbre. Lars yearned to change into his clean extra underwear, but couldn't strip in front of the priestess, so he instead fell back onto the pillow, his arms bent above his head.

She strummed a chord on the petite instrument. Though it was humble and a little tinny, the sound sent a soft chill up Lars' spine, the relaxing kind of chill he felt when he drank cool juice on an especially hot day. He closed his eyes.

Talia hummed a note, then began tickling out a slow rhythm in a minor key. The tune sounded like something Lars had heard before, but the memory was so difficult to chase, it might have been in a dream. Lars smiled as the thought occurred to him. _A dream._ That seemed so appropriate. He lazily rocked his head back and forth on the pillow in time with Talia's music.

She was focused on her music, nodding with the mellow beat. She hummed again, this time along with the tune she played. Lars barely noticed when the quiet _"dah-dah dah"_ s became lilting words.

 _"Fields of gold_  
_Rivers cold_  
_Autumn shows her face between the leaves_  
_Clouds of white_  
_Fill my sight_  
_As I reap my heart among the sheaves_  
_Dreaming down_  
_Wedding gown_  
_Not all springtime fate is meant to be_  
_Winter sleep_  
_I will keep_  
_Til the next I know blossoming tree."_

Lars was deep asleep before Talia finished the final verse.

His dreams that night were so dark that he wasn't sure he was dreaming at all. Fragments of vocalization, cold and tall as if echoing through high hallways, sprinted across his unconscious awareness. Someone shrieked and dim lights flickered around him. Even now he couldn't puzzle out just where he was. On one side, a flash of the wall in his mother's house. On another, ivy encroaching upon the stone wall of the Shadwood courtyard. He felt a mounting pain between his eyes as the images darkened, shifted.

Someone approached, their footsteps consistent within the vacillating locale. Lars squinted at the figure just ahead of him. The weight and cadence of their resolute steps reminded him of someone. He tried to shut his eyes as he sifted through his foggy memory, but he found that, even with his eyes shut, he could still see. It hit him slowly, then, that the footsteps were just like his mother's.

He tried to greet her, but his lips were sealed as if coated with drying molasses. It was just as well. The person approached, and Lars saw not his mother, but a skeletal figure draped in a grey cloak, its eyes alight with red flame. Lars wanted to flinch back, but his body was held in place with the same adhesive force.

 _"Boy,"_ it said in a ghastly impression of his mother's voice. _"Let me look at you."_

Its bony hand reached out and stroked Lars' cheek. He whimpered at its frozen touch.

 _"I see,"_  said the skeleton, and it laughed a hoarse, chilling laugh, nothing like his mother's. _"Perhaps you will be fitting prey for the fallen priest. Perhaps, instead, you will seek me in the empty night."_

Lars just barely opened his lips enough to say, "This... this is a nightmare."

The skeleton threw back its hooded skull and laughed again, this time an entirely inhuman cackle which turned Lars' stomach. _"Yes, boy,"_ it said, _"and there shall be many more to follow."_

From behind Lars came a scream, first muffled and then loud, as if the screamer tore away a gag in the middle of their wail. A horrific tremor ran the length of Lars' back at the sound. Against his will, he was turned around to face a second figure, bound hand and foot by writhing ropes, illuminated on the floor as if by a spotlight. The captive had black hair, pale skin, and red eyes the same shade as the skeleton's flame. He struggled against the ropes, but when one frayed, two more materialized to replace it. Standing just above him, although Lars never saw it move, was the cloaked skeleton. Lars got an odd feeling that this dream wasn't his dream alone.

"Demon!" spat the bound man. "I will send witches to curse you! Vampires to tear out your throat! Darkness is the peaceful law, not the warmonger!"

 _"Aww, poor little druid. Can't call your little pets from a dream when your pets don't sleep, can you?"_ There was a cold, mocking smile in the demon's voice, though its dead face remained as stoic as any other skull.

Another rope slithered across the man's face, drawing blood from his cheek before wrapping tightly around his mouth. He lashed out an arm, but it was swiftly restrained by three more ropes, each cutting across his body more forcefully than the last. Lars couldn't see much of the pale man through the bonds. Blood seeped into the rope from within.

The demon turned its face back to Lars. It opened its jaw to speak.

"LARS!"

Lars' eyes flew wide open to meet Talia's. She held his gaze urgently. Lars heard the remnants of an echo of... a scream, it seemed, ringing between the wooden walls of the inn. His throat felt hoarse.

"Lars. Don't close your eyes. Sit right there."

Talia stood up before him, not breaking his gaze. She took a deep breath and stretched out her arms. Then, she wrenched back, and Lars felt as if some tempestuous wind was being pulled forth from every inch of his body. The sparse furniture around their room shook and the windows rattled. He leaned forward, helpless against the force stretching toward Talia. She raised her arms around it, then cupped them by her waist and tilted back. Lars collapsed backward as the strange energy was ripped from the roots in his body. For a second, he could see Talia's face, her eyes wider than he knew they could be, her mouth twisted into a gape of terror, as the energy surged into her. Then, she stumbled back, and the force was gone.

Lars sat up slowly and hugged his shoulders, shivering. Talia, her face placid once more, approached his bed and knelt.

"Are you all right?"

He tried to nod, but he was shaking so much he wasn't sure she could see it. When he opened his mouth, what came out was a sob.

She drew closer. "Lars. Look me in the eye now. Can you do that?"

That was one thing he found he could do, and he did. The sight of her sympathetic brown stare instantly softened his fearful confusion. She studied his eyes for a moment, and he lowered his arms to rest on his knees.

"Good. You look normal now. You screamed in your sleep, and when I came to wake you, I knew the demons had found you."

"There--there was a demon--"

Talia tilted her head slightly. "Shhh. It's okay now. You're safe. I am going to keep you safe."

"What did you... do?"

"I drew the demon-touched nightmares from your mind." She stood up and walked to the small dresser by the window. "They've been following me. I can ward you against them for a time."

"You drew them out?" Lars furrowed his brow. Something seemed unclear, yet far too clear, all at once. "Where did they go?"

Talia was silent.

Lars sat back against his pillow and hugged his knees. The tremors were over, but the danger before him remained suddenly quite real. That was no normal nightmare. Real, actual demons had invaded his dreams, planted messages, waited for him to arrive in the dark. They thought of him as... _prey._ They were going to kill him.

And then, there was Talia, the Dreamer. The demons were following her, wreaking havoc wherever her back was turned. There she was, standing with her arms crossed in the quiet moonlight, completely unreadable. How could she, after knowing him for less than a day, do something so utterly, irrefutably selfless for him? How could she _care?_ The silence in the room flooded Lars' head until it rang.

Talia turned around, and the angled light cast deep shadows below the creases in her skin. She looked to him. "Will you be able to sleep again tonight?"

Truthfully, Lars wasn't sure, but something subconscious drove him to say, "That should be fine."

"Good. Do your best. Tomorrow's journey to Devin will be brief, but we may yet have work to do once we find him."

"Okay." Lars pulled up the covers and turned onto his side. "Thank you."

He couldn't see her, but he heard in her voice the laugh-lined smile that tugged at her lips. "You are most welcome."

Lars slept dreamlessly through the rest of the night. He was relieved to wake up at dawn, and he dressed himself quickly, eager to relish the daylight. He and Talia met after her morning prayers outside the inn. Neither spoke of the incident the night before. The priestess and the apprentice sorcerer resumed their journey, sharing the last of Lars' bread for breakfast and savoring the chilly morning air.

Talia brushed the crumbs from her hands and, still chewing a bit, addressed Lars. "Today, I'd like to teach you something you'll find infinitely useful in your future endeavors."

"Is it a new spell?" munched Lars through his last bite of bread.

"No." Talia swallowed. "It's about how to use your spells."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's think about this: how do you conceive of your magical powers? When you want to use magic, how do you decide which spell to cast?"

Lars rubbed his forehead, still a little achy. "I don't know. Maybe I don't think about it all that much."

"Okay. That's what we're going to work on."

"How?"

"I'm going to make you think."

Lars, ever the amenable student, couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Okay... so whatever you make me think about, I'm supposed to use when I cast a spell in real life, right?"

"Right! Here's one for you: it's snowing, and you're far from any towns, and very cold. What spell can you cast?"

"That's easy. I just need fire. I'd cast a flame spell."

"Ahh, not quite. The wind and snow can put out your fire, and you would expend all your energy just trying to keep it alive. Try something else."

Lars glanced around, a little bewildered. "Uh... what about that warming spell you taught me yesterday?"

"That's a lot better! But you still have to consider some things. The spell warms you up inside, which means that, if you make it too strong, you could give yourself a serious fever. In the blustery cold north, you might be tempted to make it that strong."

Lars could feel the machinery in his mind crank into full speed action. "Maybe there's another way I could change my body without running that risk."

Talia grinned. "You're getting it! Keep going."

"Umm... shapeshifting is the first thing that comes to mind, but I know full-body shifting is difficult."

"And a little dangerous."

Lars snapped his fingers. "What if I could surround myself with heat energy, somehow? It could warm the wind and melt the snow before it hit me, like a hot shield."

"That is smart thinking! It sounds like your best option yet. You would just have to make sure it--"

"--adapts to my body, right?" Lars was animated now. "So that I don't feel as hot as the shield really is."

"Exactly." Talia beamed. "You really are one of the strongest magic wielders in the Empire. Are you ready for another one?"

Lars nodded, his eyes bright. As Talia rattled off the next scenario, he realized he'd never felt this... functional. Magic wasn't just a trophy for his mother's mantle anymore. It was for him.

They continued for another half hour, their chatter ringing through the forest. The feral beasts, which Lars assumed would treat them with aggression on sight, largely ignored them. Perhaps the priestess had cast some spell to pacify the wilderness. As they journeyed south, the conifers grew thicker. Lars saw a few plain dirt graves by the edges of the path. He wondered who would come to the Wildwoods to seek their death.

Their path between the trees grew narrower, but Lars could smell the smoke of burning leaves ahead. Then, the trees abruptly thinned. Before them sat a log cabin, barely large enough to contain one room. Smoke piped from the chimney. Lars saw an axe with its head buried in a tree stump.

"Oh, Devin," breathed Talia. "Look what you've built, all on your own."

As Talia stood in the trees and admired the frankly mediocre cabin, Lars strode past her and rapped on the front door.

There was a little shuffling inside, and then some coughing. Footsteps met Lars on the other side of the door.

"Hello?" said a deep, surprisingly soft voice.

Lars raised his chin, aware that the occupant of the cabin was watching him through the peephole. "I am Lars Tenobor. My companion and I believe you may have information regarding the location of a missing girl."

The door creaked open. The man behind it was quite tall and muscular, his delicate features hidden behind an unshorn mane of lapis lazuli hair. He looked not yet fifty, but his brown eyes, examining Lars, seemed far older.

Lars gave the man his most impressive stare. The man seemed unfazed. Lars spoke anyway. "We are seeking a girl, no older than sixteen, with hair the color of--"

"Rhen," interrupted Talia, who'd silently stepped up behind Lars. "Devin, we're looking for Rhen."

"I know this voice... a voice from another lifetime," murmured the woodsman. He met Talia's eyes, then ripped himself away. "No, I... I must be mistaken."

Lars moved out of the way so Talia could stand before the man, her neck slightly craned so she could look at him. "Keep your sight up, you woolly-eyed buffoon!" she ordered. "This self-perpetuating misery blinds you to the truth that stands before you."

The grit in Talia's voice melted as the woodsman brought a rough hand to her cheek, barely brushing against it. "It is you," he murmured, and his voice caught. "Talia... Talia. _Talia._ "

Talia sniffled, and her eyelids fluttered, splashing dewy tears on the woodsman's hand. "You're so dramatic, Devin Pendragon."

Overcome all at once, Devin swept Talia into his arms. They held one another, Talia gripping his back, Devin enveloping her like a warm cocoon. A minute passed before they parted.

Talia fixed her astute gaze on Devin once more. "What are you doing out here, Devin?" she asked. "What's become of your restless spirit?"

Devin's smile faded. "I'm a ruined man," he muttered, his eyes cast down. "A failure of a king. My shadow should never again cross a faithful doorstep."

"Is that so?" said Talia. "As if you, personally, engineered the destruction of a great nation?"

"My wife is gone. My _daughter._ My people suffer."

Lars cleared his throat. "Sir, where did you say you were from?"

For the first time in a long minute, Devin and Talia acknowledged him. "Thais," said Devin. "I'm... I _was_ Devin Pendragon, King of Thais. But Thais is only a memory."

Talia shook her head. "Thais, a memory? I'm the Dreamer now, meant to never set foot on waking ground, and even I can tell you that's a foolish claim."

"You saw it fall! Deny any other tragedy you wish, Talia, but not the massacre of Thais."

"You really are a buffoon." Dry-eyed, Talia put her hands on Devin's shoulders. "Thais still exists, and it may yet need you. We _will_ defeat Ahriman and his demons, not just for Thais, but for every nation of today and of the future. You can still do so much good. Come with me to Aveyond."

"I... don't know. I--"

Talia's face was resolute, but humor danced in her eyes. "Devin... no squabbling."

Devin chuckled. Then, he laughed properly, as if he hadn't laughed in years. He looked back down at Talia. "For you, Talia, I'll go anywhere."

Talia's voice grew serious. "I need your help with something, actually."

"Tell me."

"Rhen is... missing. Lars and I are looking for her."

"Oh..." Devin paled under his shaggy hair. "I see."

"We had hoped that you'd found her, but I can see she isn't with you."

"When did you lose her?"

"About six months ago," said Talia, a little guilt creeping into her voice. "I gave her my ring, but it was taken from her and she was captured by slave traders."

Devin shook his head, anger and horror contorting his face. "Slave traders."

"She was sold in Ghalarah. She escaped six months ago, and when I learned of this, I thought that maybe she found you."

Silent, Devin only shook his head again.

"There's something else." Talia wove her fingers around one another behind her back. "The druids must be summoned to Aveyond, but I fear they are compromised."

Devin squared his shoulders and resumed a semblance of composure. "I believe you're right. Rashnu, the druid of darkness, has dominion over the Wildwoods as well as Halloween Hills. The balance of light and darkness within this forest has been uneven for some time."

A familiar chill shook Lars. "I dreamed about this," he said, almost reflexively. He was a little surprised when both turned to hear him speak. "I, ah... I saw a demon, and a... bound man. The demon called him a druid. They talked about darkness."

Talia nodded as Lars relayed his nightmare, then turned to face Devin. "If something has happened to Rashnu, we need to set it right. Will you come with us?"

"Yes." Devin closed his eyes. "If I can fix this, it may be some small redemption for the failures of my past."

Talia took his hand and turned back to Lars. "We must travel to Halloween Hills immediately. Rhen may not be there, but the druids are of paramount importance." She glanced at Devin. "And something tells me that Rhen herself is already entwined with the fates of the druids."

Once the five bolts on Devin's door were securely locked, he led Lars and Talia through the woods to the entrance of Halloween Hills. Lars felt a little jilted when he realized he was suddenly the third wheel. He had to admit, he was enjoying his lesson with Talia earlier that morning. Now, he was an observer of Talia and Devin's team, there to help but not to matter. He didn't listen as they shared their memories. He watched the trees instead, imagining what spells he would use to climb them, to grow them, to cut them down.

Deep between the eastern cliffs, they approached the cave entrance. Steel bars ran from the top to the bottom, blocking the way to Halloween Hills. On one side of the entrance was a hole in the stone, shaped uncannily like a skull. On the other side was pasted a note:

_"Due to unnecessary stakings of citizens, Halloween Hills is closed to Uplanders."_

Lars raised an eyebrow.

Talia read the note aloud. "So... it looks as if we need some sort of key to get into Halloween Hills."

Devin, examining the hole, nodded. "Some sort of... skull-shaped key."

Lars scratched his head. "Just a plain skull might work."

"Yes, that makes sense."

"Where can we find a... a _loose_ skull?" asked Lars. He knew the answer immediately upon speaking, but he didn't especially want to suggest it.

"There are graves..." began Devin. Talia cringed. "It's all right. They're unmarked, their families are long gone from here, and anything we dig up, we'll put back the way we found it."

"All right," Lars sighed. "But you can't expect us to dig up these graves with our bare fingernails."

Devin laughed. "Of course not! I'm a woodsman, lad. I own several shovels."

Talia grimaced. "It's for an important cause, I suppose."

They trekked back through the woods to Devin's house. He fetched a pair of shovels from his storage shed, and they regrouped at the edge of the trees.

"So... a skull," said Lars, rocking on his heels.

"Devin should lead the way."

"If you wish," said Devin. "There are several graves not far from here, which I'm sure you passed on your way through."

Devin led them to the first cluster of unmarked graves and handed Lars the smaller shovel. Lars shuddered, trying not to think too hard about their directive. Clutching the spade, Devin looked left, then right, then up; then, he closed his eyes and dug.

He and Lars disinterred the first body quickly; it wasn't buried very deep. Unfortunately, only scant parts of the corpse remained, and the skull wasn't among them.

The following grave was much the same. For the third, Lars gave his shovel to Talia and watched as she met just as little success. Devin remarked that he knew the locations of several other graves, and they hiked through the woods, hauling shovels, pausing to dig here and there. This corpse was headless. That corpse was still covered in maggoty flesh. The next had a skull, but half was smashed to pieces. The following corpse was that of a cow.

Hours passed. Lars, exhausted and disgusted, and Talia, suppressing her exasperation, crossed a rickety bridge over a picturesque stream to reach a fresh mound below a jagged cliff. Devin excused himself to urinate around the corner.

A pleasant autumn breeze blew in from the southeast, carrying the faintest scent of lavender. Lars took a deep breath. He'd never smelled lavender in the wild before. It was unusual, yet somehow reinvigorating. He attacked the dirt with renewed energy.

"Do you think Devin has a bath in his house?" he asked.

"It's... unlikely," admitted Talia.

"Perhaps a stream in which he doesn't relieve himself?"

"Also unlikely."

That wasn't great news. Lars took another deep breath, and the scent of mountain flowers filled his head. "Do you smell that?"

Talia didn't look up from her labor. "Smell what?"

"Never mind."

They continued shoveling in silence. Even the birds were hushed in this corner of the Wildwoods. Through the noise of metal unearthing rocky soil, Lars could swear he heard someone laugh beyond the trees.


	8. Elini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too many cooks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for teenage drinking. Mild language warning.

For the first time in his life, Lars slept on the floor.

Rather, he _attempted_ to sleep on the floor. There was only one bed in Devin's cabin, and Devin relinquished it for Talia. She swore she didn't need it, but Devin was persistent. At the time, Lars was torn between declaring that surely he needed the bed the most and claiming that, as a tough, grown man, he could handle a little floor. He remained silent in his indecision, and got the floor.

He wasn't even sure why he and Talia didn't return to the inn. Why would the woodsman offer space he didn't have, and why would the priestess immediately accept it? _Ridiculous mainlanders._

And then... well, between the garland of flowers Talia wove by the light of the setting sun, which she placed over Devin's indigo hair... and her precise favorite wild berry cobbler, which he recalled even after a decade and a half of isolation, cooked in a clay pot over his campfire... and how they sat beside one another with their shoulders touching, their elbows perfectly synchronized so they never bumped... and the sound of his husky baritone mingling with her staccato lute against a backdrop of woodsy crickets...

Well, Lars wasn't entirely certain why they didn't just share the damn bed.

The thought made his stomach sour. He rolled over, sighed melodramatically, and plucked a splinter out of his thigh. Sleep was not forthcoming.

Directly at eye level ahead of him, tucked in a cubby-hole beneath Devin's table, was a half-full decanter of... something. It looked quite a lot like the bourbon Rona used as a nightcap on especially troublesome days, coppery and clean. Lars didn't entirely mind the tastes he'd had of her liquor, stolen swigs on nights he felt especially rebellious. Rona always slept like a rock when she drank.

Lars stared at the decanter, and stared, and stared, and then he rose to his feet and tip-toed to the table. He crouched awkwardly underneath the table on his hands and knees, grabbed the decanter, uncorked it, and took a sip. It was surprisingly smooth, though not as smooth as the best of the sake he'd tried here and there throughout his youth. He rolled the taste around in his mouth, acclimating before squeezing his eyes shut and chugging one, two, three swallows straight from the decanter. He re-corked it immediately, wiped the liquid from his mouth, and put the decanter back in the cubby, straightening it carefully so it sat at the same angle as it did when he first saw it.

He glanced around before sneaking back to his bedroll. Devin was still snoring. Lars tucked himself back in, snuggling up to his pillow, and finally allowed himself to enjoy the bitter heat slowly pulsing from his chest down to his stomach. He closed his eyes and smiled numbly.

He must've passed out shortly thereafter, because the next thing he knew, muffled birdsong and sunlight drifted through the curtainless windows to bother him. He moved his arm and immediately groaned. In even the tiniest of his muscles, he felt a pain as intense and persistent as if he'd spent the entire day prior digging holes in the ground and then sleeping on a strict wooden floor.

"Good morning, Lars!" called Talia's warm voice from near the front wall. She leaned against the wood, facing him and smiling, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Morning," he grumbled. Oh, good; his head hurt, too... and there was a nasty taste in his mouth.

"How did you sleep?"

"I'm not sure yet." Lars lifted himself up onto his forearms. "And you look for all the world like you just stood there and stared at me all night."

Talia's smile didn't waver, but the movement in her eyes froze.

Lars quirked his eyebrows, then let the moment pass. His joints snapped and popped as he rose to his feet. The single pillow hadn't protected his neck from cramping. It seemed no part of him would leave this cabin unharmed.

"Well, if you weren't sleeping in that bed, you might've let someone know." He stretched, rolling out each of his achy fingers.

"I slept. Devin's making wild chicken eggs for breakfast."

Lars grabbed his shirt from beside his blanket and slipped it on. "What's our plan for today?"

"I think we should head back north," Talia said, her voice tinged with resignation. "The empress may have a relationship with the witches or the vampires..."

"She _is_ a bloodsucking little bat."

"...and that might merit us entry into Halloween Hills, somehow. Although it's a long shot at best."

"Even if it fails, we have a whole city full of graves just waiting to be dug up," exclaimed Lars, rolling his neck.

The corners of Talia's lips pulled outward. "I sense some dissatisfaction in your tone."

 _Incredible. Is that what they teach you Priestesses in Mysten Far?_ "Just a headache."

"Well, I'm not wasting magic on that," Talia parried, and Lars recoiled a bit at the wild notion that she might be reading his thoughts. "There's fresh water to drink outside. Go fry eggs with Devin."

Lars tugged up his pants and left.

The sticky scent of conifers had worn out quickly on him. He wrinkled his nose as he trudged to the tree stump beside Devin and his crackling morning fire.

Devin cleared his throat. "Morning, Lars."

"Morning. Do you have water?"

As Lars perched uncomfortably upon his tree stump, Devin pointed at the bucket by his feet. Lars grabbed it and splashed a little water onto his face before slurping up a few handfuls.

"Don't use it all," said Devin.

"Hrmph." Lars dropped the bucket back onto the ground. Water slopped over the sides. Devin shot him the briefest of glares. Ignoring it, Lars said, "Talia told me to make her some eggs."

"Talia's already eaten. Make yourself some eggs."

Only after Lars grabbed an egg from the basket beside Devin did he remember that he'd never cooked an egg for anyone in his life. He spent a begrudging few minutes mirroring every move Devin made over the fire, and even then, when he removed his eggs from the cast-iron, the yolks were still runny. That was fine; he liked his yolks runny. When there was bread. There wasn't bread.

Talia joined her companions around the fire while they ate. Lars wore the dribbled egg yolk down his chin defiantly, though he desperately prayed for a towel. Devin was silent as Talia told him her plan for the day. He stared at her, Lars thought, as if he had to archive every iota of her form lest he ever spend another minute away from her.

He didn't stop casting glances as they hiked north through the woods. Lars hated to watch it, although he couldn't say why. He tasted salt in his mouth. Although the forest's aggressive ravens were repelled by Talia's magic, Lars glared scalding evocations at them as they passed by. Talia raised an eyebrow at the birds' shrieks, but all she said to Lars was, "Remember to balance your concentration."

Lars carelessly picked off the birds one by one as the trio ascended from the wooded valley. The cliffside passage was slippery from the waterfall spray. Lars tripped over a dip in the rock, and Talia steadied him with one arm.

"Don't forget to focus on your feet, too."

Her mellow smile warmed Lars' chest and vibrated through his mind. It briefly occurred to him that he was acting like a numbskull and that maybe he should stop.

His attention was swiftly redirected as they reached the highest point on the climb, where the cliffs met the fertile grasslands. A woman, tall, with silver hair and skin darker than his, stood watching over the eastern edge of the cliff. She wore an outfit in a revealing cut Lars had never seen before, although the teal-dyed silk suggested that, wherever she came from, she was a wealthy woman.

She didn't turn to survey the party as they approached. Curious, Lars strode up to her anyway.

"Are you lost, my lady?" he asked in his most noble, velveteen voice.

"Waiting," she said, her voice as smooth as his and twice as self-assured. She scanned him with cool blue eyes as she spoke. "How come you from the Wildwood forest?"

"Ah... by foot, my lady."

The woman scoffed. "I see before me a child. You should not be in the Wildwoods. Surely you will perish if you stay."

"That's...!" Lars bit back a retort. "I'm traveling with a skilled priestess of Mysten Far. She's my mentor."

"I see." The woman glanced over Lars' shoulder at Talia, who met her eyes and came forward to greet her.

"My name is Talia. May I be of assistance with anything?"

"Perhaps." Blue eyes drifted from Talia back to Lars, and then over his other shoulder. The woman's face snapped to attention as she inspected Devin. "Perhaps, indeed."

"I don't recognize your dress, but I can tell you're of noble blood," said Lars.

"You've a sharp eye, northerner," said the strange woman, not severing her gaze from Devin. "I am Elini, of the house Lithir de Aramati in Veldt. I have traveled north seeking a new husband."

"I am sorry for your loss," said Talia, with motherly concern in her brow.

"You shame me!" huffed Elini, shooting Talia a seething glance. "I have not _lost_ my other husbands! They are on the southern isle, patiently and eagerly awaiting my return."

Talia opened her mouth, failed to speak, and cast her eyes out at the waterfall. Lars cleared his throat. It was Devin who finally spoke.

"Veldti tradition is both matriarchal and polygamous," he said, his voice quietly confident. "A noble woman in particular will collect husbands to form a single, cohesive family unit."

Elini graced him with a smug smile. "At least there is one northerner bred well enough to know of my people. Your name, my friend?"

"Devin."

"A fine and noble name, Devin. I believe there was a king on the mainland by the name of Devin."

"How might we help you, Lady Elini?" Talia pressed.

Elini didn't dignify her with a glance, instead advancing closer to Devin. Lars noted the way her hips swayed, as if she were dancing toward Devin rather than walking. Her chrome hair skimmed the bare skin on her back. It was... bewitching. "I will travel with you for now," she asserted. "I have only begun my search. There is safety in groups, so I will go where you go."

"My name's Lars," said Lars.

"We're going to Veldarah to seek passage into Halloween Hills," Talia explained.

"Going to Veldarah to seek passage into the Hills?" Elini snorted. "As one would burrow into the earth in search of clouds."

Talia faced north and began walking toward the main road. "The empress may have contact with the witches or vampires."

Elini matched stride with Talia, keeping Devin close at her back. "The empress. A close, personal friend of yours, Priestess?"

"Yes, in fact," said Talia.

"She's my cousin," added Lars.

"Friends of the empress. Noble company indeed."

While they walked, Lars had an intriguing view of Elini's back. There was a whip coiled and secured to her belt, which hung low around her waist. The teal fabric about her legs was sheer. An intricate, floral tattoo wove up one thigh from her inner knee to... Lars was raised to be a gentleman, so he didn't see just how far the design reached. His eyes darted away, only to alight upon her hips, watching the little bells on the belt tinkle as they swung from side to side, no, he couldn't look at this--his eyes shot up, traced the brown curve of her waist, watched the soft skin dimple with each step-- _Oh, hell._ Lars squeezed his eyes shut.

"Why do you believe the faraway empress can open the way for you?" asked Elini in her low, sleek voice.

"The entrance is barred, and it seems a key is necessary to enter," said Talia.

"What kind of key?"

"A skull," said Lars.

"Ha!" Elini barked. "That is easy. Simply kill a bitter enemy and take his head as a trophy."

Talia quailed and Devin suppressed a hoot of laughter. Lars gaped a little. "Uh... I don't think so," he finally said.

"Fine." Elini was silent for a moment, but her back straightened slightly and the exaggerated sway of her hips abated. She said, "Wait, I know of this key. You seek the skull of the cursed pirate."

Talia slowed. "The... what?"

"Do you not tell legends and bedtime stories in the north?" asked Elini, laughing gently. She sounded less patronizing now, more excited. "There is one enchanted skull in the Arishta Isles, and it is the skull of the cursed pirate who was torn into pieces by the spirits in his treasure. His body was--"

"Do you know where the skull is?" asked Devin, cutting her off.

Elini slowed her pace. "Legend has it that two of his bones lie resting at the End of Land. One is the skull."

"That's in the other direction," sighed Devin.

Talia fixed him with a confused look. "You know the location of the hidden basin of Land's End?"

"I could walk there from my cabin in half an hour if I wish."

"So we are to travel through the Wildwood forest in search of the End of Land!" chimed Elini, delight plain on her face. "How exciting and dangerous."

"My glamer won't protect us in Land's End," Talia warned Lars. "Are you prepared to defend yourself against whatever we may encounter?"

Lars found Elini's confidence infectious. "Without a doubt," he said, a taste of his old haughtiness creeping into his voice.

"Good. Devin, can you show us the way?"

"Yes."

"Lady Elini... do you know what to look for?"

Elini cocked her head. "It may be in the temple of the druid of music. Then again, it may not."

"Thank you. I think we should seek the temple first. Devin, what do you think?"

"That's as good a plan as any."

Talia marched back toward the descent into the Wildwood valley. "If we're fortunate, we could make New Witchwood before nightfall. The sooner we can aid Rashnu, the sooner we can resume our search for Rhen."

"Who?" asked Elini, close behind.

"The lost princess of Thais," said Devin, somber. "She's destined to defeat the demons invading our world."

"She's my age, and she's got light skin and purple hair," interrupted Lars. "Have you seen her? She may have been with a man in a red jacket."

Elini shook her head. "I arrived only this morning, and I have seen no girl."

Lars sighed. Of course she hadn't.

As they scaled the cliffs back down to the valley, Talia explained her quest to Elini, and Elini listened with increasing fascination. Lars grew bored of the conversation and fell back next to Devin. Apparently Elini was a demon summoner, the type who could bind demons' spirits to aid her for moments at a time. Lars was sure Talia didn't care for this, but not one tic in her behavior indicated displeasure. Devin was a blank slate.

Not two hours passed before the thick pine and cypress made way for sparser trees. The brown autumn carpet below Lars' feet became lush, springy grass, and the cliffs around them fell away. Eerie birdsong echoed in Lars' ears.

Before they reached the temple, they had to fend off a couple of ravwyrn and one horrific dryad. Lars felt completely safe between his three experienced companions, but he cast a spell here and there for practice. He recalled Talia's concerns about fire, and instead buried their assailants in avalanches of rock. Each time he helped, he turned to Talia, hoping she'd look his way and say "good work!" or "you did well!" with pride in her voice.

She didn't. Lars stopped looking to her. He didn't need any praise, anyway.

They found the temple quickly, as if the trees parted to guide them. Lars hiked up his robes to step over the last stream in their path. It occurred to him that he might not change his clothes for days. He shuddered. Talia strode past him and pushed open the temple doors.

Lars' shoulders relaxed a bit as he stepped into the cool air of the temple. Here was a haven of pristine architecture and cleanliness. Not a splintering plank in sight.

The skull stood in plain view on a pedestal in the center of the room. Behind it was Vohu Manah, who was staring out an ornate glass window in the back of the temple. He turned to face his guests.

"Welcome, travelers. What brings you to my temple?"

Talia bowed her head briefly. "Druid, it's good to see you well. We seek passage into Halloween Hills, and we believe you hold the key."

"I know you." The druid squinted as he approached Talia. "You are the Dreamer. So... you've left the dream now that Ahriman has returned."

"Yes. Rashnu may have been compromised by the demons."

"This druid also bears the scent of demons," said Elini, closely scrutinizing Vohu Manah.

"I was overpowered by the demon Nanghaithya," he responded. "I know not how long I was petrified. The creature held sway over my domain until it was defeated."

"Defeated by whom?" asked Devin.

"A young girl... a sword singer, although something blocks her magic. And her companion, a strange man with the posture of a sailor."

"Sword singer," muttered Lars. Shadwood taught both sorcerers and sword singers. This girl... she could have been his _classmate_. Instead, she was his slave. He gripped his head with one hand, suddenly weary.

"That was Rhen," said Devin. "She was here."

"Dreamer," said Vohu Manah, "you must take me to Aveyond. All the druids, and you as well, must gather."

"I know," said Talia.

"The girl and her partner woke me, but they refused to travel to the Sun Temple. I believe she said she was going home."

"We'll take you. First, we have to find Rashnu and release him from his peril, but we must act quickly. Finding Rhen is critical to our survival."

"That is the skull which will open the way to the Hills of Halloween," said Elini, gesturing at the pedestal. "Only the druid may remove it."

"And I shall. I will travel with you to the temple of darkness to investigate this demonic corruption before we sail for the northern isle."

Vohu Manah plucked the skull from the pedestal, and the water immediately drained from its shallow moat. Lars, stiff with his sudden exhaustion and ready to keep moving, began sidling toward the door. Devin pushed it open, evidently just as ready to leave, and Talia, Elini, and Vohu Manah followed behind.

Neither flora nor fauna disturbed them as the druid guided them out of Land's End. As the sun reached its peak in the sky, Lars' stomach rumbled. He pulled the last piece of Devin's dried venison from the pocket inside his robes and snacked on it as he walked. There were far too many people in their party for his liking now. He didn't want Devin there, for certain. Elini didn't belong with them. The druid was an annoyance--nothing but extra baggage. No, this wasn't at all what he expected.

After an hour of backtracking, they reached the barred entrance to Halloween Hills. Vohu Manah placed the skull in its slot and the bars ascended, showering dirt and needles. Elini shook a stray root from her skirt. Talia descended into the purple underworld, and Lars followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The party now consists of Vohu Manah, Elini, Lars, Devin, and Talia, making them team VELDT! (I thought of this while trying to write a chapter summary, so here you go.)


	9. Piracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ocean is a place of danger and revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild language warning.

Rhen and John stayed at the Wildwood Tavern the night they escaped Land's End. She spent the money John stole from the cart driver to pay for the attic suite, two piping hot meals, some warm cider, and a light backpack full of preserved food and traveling supplies. They fell asleep before the vanishing of the sun's last rays and didn't wake up until nearly noon the next day.

The first thing John said to Rhen that morning was, "Good morning." The second thing he said was, "Ready to go get a boat?"

Rhen stood up and stretched the past week from her muscles. "With what money?"

John laughed. "Good one. Let's head out. I want anchor up before sundown."

Rhen sat back on the bed to button up her vest. _Whatever. It can't possibly go worse than our last voyage._

John swiped the darts from the board in the tavern, as well as some bread and soft cheese from the kitchen before they left. Rhen wasn't sure why they didn't just break fast with the provisions they bought the night before. _More for later, I guess._ She was impressed by the cheese. It tasted Sedonan.

They hiked out of the valley with care, grounding their feet in the slippery rock. It looked like rain in the north. When they reached the top of the gorge, they hustled, ignoring the path and jogging between the hills toward the northwestern coast. John was minimally encumbered, but after half an hour of intense legwork, Rhen felt the new backpack bruising her shoulderblades and sweat dripping down her spine. She recalled how she shut down the pain in her feet when she escaped the Tenobor house, and she let her mind ease away from her body, drifting away from their odyssey and into the golden hills, the verdant jungle, the kaleidoscopic ocean.

After an entire afternoon of dissociation, Rhen had trouble sucking her soul back into her body upon reaching the marina. John slowed his pace once it was in sight, leisurely strolling toward the boardwalk. Rhen did her best to imitate him. The sweat streaming down her body didn't help.

She found her lips and her voice. "So what's the plan?"

"Well," said John, "we are going to leave here on a boat."

"Any particular boat?"

John squinted at the docks. "Hm... I see a huge carrack, a galiot... that won't do; we'd need more than one rower... smallest dory I've ever seen... and then there's the ferry sloop. Slim pickings."

"You don't like the carrack? I think it's beautiful."

"Look how many masts there are on that thing!" said John, waving an arm. "I'll be at the helm, violet; do _you_ think you could manage four masts at once?"

"Well--"

"If history is to be any indication, you can hardly manage two."

"I...!" Rhen gaped. "You... _you_...!"

"We'll have to take the sloop." John sighed. "Hopefully it's seaworthy."

"That's the ferry," jabbed Rhen. "It only goes to the northern isle."

"No, the _ferryman_ only goes to the northern isle. The boat will take us where we tell it to go."

Rhen's brow furrowed. "What?"

John rolled his eye. "Maybe you forgot, princess. We. Are. Pirates. What do pirates do?"

_Uh oh._

"Pirates steal things?"

"That's right. And we are going to steal that boat. Quickly, too; the sun's headed to Clearwater faster than we are." They reached the boardwalk, and John took Rhen's hand to help her step up onto the platform.

"So... how are we going to get away with this?" Rhen adjusted her belt, the sheathed rapier wobbling a little.

"It's simple. We have to steal it while he's not looking, first of all. Second of all, we either have to steal it while no one else is looking, or we have to convince our audience that they're not actually seeing what they're seeing."

Rhen squinted. "Maybe you _did_ get some seawater in your brain. Plug your ears next time you crash a boat."

"It's not dragon science, violet; all you have to do is convince everyone that the boat you're stealing rightfully belongs to you."

"How? Exactly?"

"Let me think." John looked around the marina, then at Rhen, then at Rhen's backpack. "You bought some trail mix, right? In a little bag?"

"Uh..." Rhen slipped off her backpack, not entirely knowing why she was humoring him, and rummaged around. She pulled out a small drawstring bag full of pistachios. "I have a bag of nuts."

John snatched it from her hand. "Perfect. Now we need to do a little snooping around. A little recon. What's this ferryman's name? Does he live at the docks, or does he commute? What's his preferred method of land transportation?"

Rhen held her forehead in one hand. "Oh my gods, John. Why? What's the point of this?"

" _Obviously_ we're going to make him run away so we can steal the ship unhindered! How are you not following this?"

"Run away? What, by telling him his... horse is on fire?"

John snapped his fingers. "Yes. Exactly."

_"Are you mad?!"_

"Whatever it is that he owns outside of the ferry, we've got to convince him that it's in jeopardy so he'll run away from the pier and stop paying attention to us!" John's voice was hushed as to not attract the attention of other sailors, but he was growing animated, his eye wide. "He'll leave us by the boat because we've gained his favor and he trusts us just enough not to steal it. And then we steal it."

Rhen was struck silent. This plan... actually made _sense_.

"So I'll charm the bastard, give him the baggie, and you scream bloody arson. Got it now?"

"Um... sure, but how does this involve fooling the other sailors and guards?"

John grinned from ear to ear. He shook the little bag of pistachios. "You know these are nuts. I know these are nuts. The ferryman will know these are nuts. No one else on this pier knows what's in this bag."

It dawned on Rhen all at once. "They'll think we're paying him for his boat!"

"Exaaaaactly!"

"He runs away, doesn't know we're taking the boat--everyone else on the pier thinks we've bought it from him--there's no one with the wisdom to bother stopping us!" Rhen couldn't help but match John's grin as she spoke.

"Excellent. Do you think you're ready?"

"I'm pretty sure I know what to say."

"Then let's go chat up a ferryman."

The ferryman sat in his sloop wearing a seasonally-appropriate sweater and a boater hat. Rhen kept her face in line but smirked internally. _He couldn't be more of a stereotype if he tried. He's ASKING to be conned._ John walked down the dock and stood before the sloop, ankles tight together, one hand firm on his hip and the other raised as if testing the air.

"Fine day for a voyage, wouldn't you say?" he declared. "Winds are fair from the south."

The ferryman fixed John with a mild gaze. "Would be fairer with clear skies to the north. Haven't had an interested customer yet today, one way or the other. Are you seeking passage to the northern isle?"

John plucked out a laugh. "My apologies, fine sir; I am a fellow captain, just here to greet and schmooze before we hoist the anchor."

"Is that so? Which vessel is she?"

"The galiot, down at the other end." John waved off toward the northern end of the pier. "It's hard to see her from here behind that goliath of a carrack."

Both men laughed. The ferryman stuck out a hand for John to shake. "Name's Brig. Brig Schoonerson. Yours?"

Rhen was glad John was doing the talking, because there was no way she could've opened her mouth just then without snorting.

"Captain Winch Headbutt," said John. "And this is my valet, Skip Townsley."

Brig offered Rhen a hand and said, "How do you do." She allowed herself a pained, high-pitched hum in response.

John shot her a tight-lipped smile. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Schoonerson. And your fine lady here; what's her name?"

"Queen Sarah," said Brig, pride in his voice as he pointed to the fading blue paint aft of the mast on the port side. "After my daughter."

Hidden behind John, Rhen rolled her eyes. _How trite! We'll call her something debonair, like... The Dancing Danny._

"Lovely, lovely. I named my ship for my mother-in-law, would you believe it." The two men laughed again. Rhen allowed herself a titter. John pasted a winning smile across his face. "Do you and your family live nearby?"

"Yes, in fact," said Brig. "A couple hours north of here. We moved to a farther house once I saved up enough to buy a horse."

_Rich fool. I bet he has a... sun room._

"Oh, a horse?" said John.

"Yes, she's beautiful. A palomino mare. Very fast, too."

"I've never gotten seasick on a ship, but I've sure gotten seasick on a horse."

Brig chuckled. "You get used to it."

"To each his own." John shrugged, still beaming. Then he stretched. "Oh, heavens above; I know I should be hungry now, but I'm just... not!"

Brig grunted in sympathy. "Oh, don't I know it. Getting hungry on the water is the worst. Especially when you're a crew of one."

John pulled the bag of pistachios from his jacket. "These are a godsend. Easy to pop in your mouth, not too sweet, never go bad..." He undid the drawstring and showed Brig the nuts inside. "Want to try one?"

Rhen looked over her shoulder, then at the dory to their right. She thanked the gods that the nearest guard sneezed as Brig popped one of the "coins" into his mouth.

"That's delicious!" exclaimed Brig through a mouthful of pistachio. "Why, cure some of these with a little lime, and who needs any other food?"

"Oh, exactly!" John tied the bag closed once more. He let it linger in his hand a moment. "Say, Brig, do you want these? I've got half a dozen barrels on my ship; you should take them."

 _That's my cue._ Rhen began strolling back to the marina, hands behind her back. She scanned the buildings while John and Brig cordially argued over who should take the nuts to sea. The main path connected to the boardwalk at the southern end, so Rhen reasoned the stables should be... _there._ And there was the tail end of a palomino mare. She half-hid behind the shelter of a small building across the road from her prey.

John snagged just a few darts from the tavern, and besides that, Rhen knew she might only have one chance to do this without being seen. She gripped the dart in her hand and waited for the last guard to turn away. She'd trained for this moment over a decade of projectile-related competitions with two fit boys. Swifter than she had ever thrown anything in her life, Rhen slung the dart at the palomino's derriere.

A direct hit.

The horse shrieked and burst forth from the stables. All eyes were on Rhen's diversion as it galloped away from the marina. Rhen turned heel and ran down the dock toward the sloop.

"Sir! Sir, your horse!" she hollered. "It's running away! Something spooked it!"

Brig shot to his feet. "Oh no... oh no!" One pocket bulging with the sack of pistachios, he sped away from the boat. He didn't bother to look back as he chased the horse into the plains.

Rhen looked at John. John looked at Rhen.

"Nice job, Skip."

"By your command, Captain Headbutt."

At once, they hopped to preparing the sloop to sail. They had to make haste before Brig caught up with his horse, but they couldn't act too quickly lest they seem desperate or suspicious to the guards or sailors. Luckily, it was a small boat, and it was already prepared for departure. They easily trimmed the sails for the southern wind. John stopped only for a second while Rhen adjusted the rigging for the beam reach.

"This thing has a _tiller?_ What is this, a boat for... for _children?"_

"Just get us out of here," groused Rhen.

They released the dock lines, and off they sailed.

The little sloop was much faster than Rhen anticipated. They were out of the shallow coastal waters and on the open ocean within an hour. Rhen marveled at how blue the water looked under the perfect sky. The perfect, enormous, unbroken sky.

They abandoned the sails for dinner another hour later. John told Rhen stories about the last voyage he made with a full crew. Rhen half-listened, silently nibbling a shortbread cake and staring past his face at their cerulean backdrop.

"...and then Davey looked over the side, too, and it wasn't a whale at all; Ronson just forgot to haul in the fishing nets!"

"Mhm."

"After that, we had to let Sam go. His eyesight was hardly good enough to load a cannon, let alone fire it."

Rhen tidied up their supplies when they finished eating, taking care to ensure everything they needed would be in the backpack in case of an emergency. The day was fading quickly into an ephemeral October evening. John shaded his eye as he navigated the Queen Sarah into the setting sun. As the last rays sank below the horizon, Rhen sent a prayer to the god of darkness, asking for safe passage and steady stars.

The ocean was close at night, almost intimately so. The skies were clear, not one cloud disturbing the array of constellations or the waxing moon. Its silver sublimity was the only thing casting light upon the world; though they were stark and constant, the glittering of the stars seemed remote. All the sky's bounties were reflected in the lonely waters below, as if painting a secret, second sky for the pleasure of Rhen and John alone. The lands of Aia fell away, a distant dream not worth recalling. Dangling an arm over the side of the boat, Rhen felt as if nothing at all sat between her and the boundless heavens.

John was a little more frustrated. "There's no wind. Vi, _how_ is there no wind? I need wind!"

Rhen turned lazily to look at the headsail. She blew at it.

John threw down his hands and returned to the rigging. "Thanks, crew."

"Hey. Brig sailed her all by himself." The sloop was about sixty feet from bow to stern, and it contained only two benches; Rhen wasn't sure it could fit more than a few people. "The ferry passengers don't pay to reef the sails when he gets tired."

"And you haven't paid for anything." John grunted as he pulled something behind her.

"So what do you want me to do? Perform a wind dance?" Rhen scoffed. "I can't bring the wind down any more than you can."

"Oh, I know the problem; there can't possibly be any wind left after you've gone and broken it all."

"Thou who smelt it, dealt it."

"You know, I'd be performing a public service not to foist you back upon your long-suffering Clearwater neighbors."

"You'll miss me, old man." Rhen smiled to herself and the ocean.

"I'm only twenty-eight, you cheeky infant!"

Rhen was a little surprised. "Really? You look..."

"I know." John snapped. "I'm just tired."

The pirate abandoned his task and dropped to the deck with a heavy sigh. He pulled a bag of dried berries from Rhen's backpack and emptied it directly into his mouth.

"Hey," she said, waving a halfhearted arm at him. "Those were meant to last til we weigh anchor."

"They're gross; you wouldn't want them," munched John. "Just lemme--AUGH!"

The boat suddenly lurched forward, its stern lifting up into the air a few feet. Rhen and John grabbed onto the sides to keep themselves from tipping out. John choked on the berries. The sloop settled, and his coughing rang out eerily across the placid water.

Rhen whipped her head about, searching for the source of the disturbance. John pounded on his chest and cleared his throat.

"Ugh... probably a cocky shark or something..." John stood up. "I'll try to get us out of here."

John found the direction of the slight wind stirring from the starboard side. Abandoning the stars in the west, he altered the point of sail to run downwind. Rhen stood to help him adjust the mainsail.

Immediately, the boat shook again. Rhen nearly lost balance, but flailed her arms to keep herself from falling overboard. John clung to the mast.

"We need to move before this thing capsizes us!" shrilled Rhen.

John returned to the tiller. "Calm down; I've dealt with sharks before. That's why I turned to piracy."

"Jonathan, this is _no_ time for jokes!"

"Who the hell is 'Jonathan'?"

And the water suddenly broke not five inches from Rhen's feet.

A colossal creature rose before them. As close as she was, Rhen could hardly see what manner of beast tread the water before her. She saw slimy tentacles dotted with suckers, a circular mouth easily large enough to swallow a dinghy whole, thorny protrusions across its body, and a mess of glowing blue eyes. A deep growl emanated from gill-like slits on its sides.

Rhen couldn't take her eyes off the thing. Shaking, she fumbled for her rapier. She heard John draw his behind her.

"Don't... make... a sound," muttered John.

At that, the creature _screamed_ and lashed forward. A tentacle slapped John to his hands and knees. Reflexively, Rhen shrieked and stabbed at the beast. Dark green blood oozed from the cut she made in its torso. The creature screamed again and dove back under the boat, splashing the pirates with seawater. The sloop rocked dangerously as the creature collided from below.

Rhen and John backed into one another, frantically scanning for the beast. Rhen reached back slowly and touched John's shoulder with her free hand. He raised his trembling hand across his chest to meet hers.

The thing erupted from the ocean and slammed six of its tentacles onto the deck. As the boat tipped, Rhen and John slid toward the beast's cavernous maw. Before they could tumble into its mouth, John stomped one leg in front of Rhen, steadying her on the deck, and slashed out with his rapier, slicing into all three of the tentacles before him. The creature reared back and plunged its injured extremities back into the ocean.

Rhen saw her opportunity. She mimicked John's forward slash, brutalizing the three remaining tentacles. The first was cut almost cleanly in two; the dangling end ripped itself off as the creature writhed in pain. It slopped onto the deck, exuding slimy blood. The creature once more let go of the boat, which swayed precariously against the choppy water.

Rhen relaxed her shoulders a little. Then, the creature's gigantic fin emerged from the ocean and slapped her directly into the mast.

Her vision grew white as pain bloomed in her side. She couldn't hear John shouting for her as he lunged at the beast. The arm that hit the mast felt broken, and it stung where it scraped a metal strut. She couldn't unwrap her fingers from the hilt of her rapier. Her face contorted and a cry escaped her throat.

She didn't see the glow transmit from her fingers down to the tip of her sword, but she did feel a strange force burst forth from the metal to strike the towering beast.

The creature howled in five octaves as it bled out into the ocean. Rhen opened her eyes to see a tremendous gash through its side, nearly the size of a second mouth. John was still hacking at it as far as he could reach, but it was clearly breathing its last. Rhen's muscles all relaxed at once.

The stinging pain in her arm drew back her attention. She looked down, saw her own blood trickling down a pale wrist from a tanned forearm. She flexed each of her fingers and lifted her arm. Good; didn't seem broken. Badly bruised, most likely.

She turned her attention to her rapier. It seemed normal again, perhaps in need of a polish. Still, she couldn't forget the way that force felt as it whipped from her fingers. _Where did John get his hands on a magic sword?_

The last of the creature's glowing eyes dimmed, and it sank back into the ocean, upsetting the water around the sloop. John stood by the edge of the boat, panting, watching the water as if he could see when the beast's corpse hit the ocean floor, just to be safe. Rhen climbed unsteadily to her feet, gripping the mast. She fumbled to sheathe her sword with her uninjured arm.

John turned to her, his eye wide and a little frightened. "What... did you _do?"_

Rhen furrowed her brow. "I hit the mast. I don't think I broke anything."

"No, the... the magic! Whatever you did to that monster! Since when do you do _magic?!"_

Rhen sniffed. "Never. Obviously this sword is enchanted. How do you steal a sword and not know it's enchanted?"

"Hey, I bought that sword fair and square! It cost twenty whole coins!"

"You bought something! I'm so proud of you."

"Tell me. What you did." John's voice held no trace of humor. He glared at Rhen.

Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. "I don't know. I really don't know, John."

He grabbed her by her left wrist and pulled her hand toward him, scrutinizing it as if he could see the magic in her skin. He dropped the left hand and grabbed her right, smearing blood across her bare wrist.

He stopped.

"Rhen."

She was a little afraid now, too. "What?"

"Where's your bracelet?"

Rhen looked behind her at the mast. She saw her blood streaking the metal strut, and on the deck below, she saw the bracelet, dented badly and bent wide open.

She looked back at John.

"Vi... do you know what those bracelets are made for?"

"To identify slaves. Right?"

He shook his head. "A long time ago on the eastern continent, there was a slave revolt. Most of the slaves survived and got away from the empire, but the only reason they were so successful was because many of the slaves could wield magic."

"What are you saying?"

"After the revolt, eastern arcanologists designed the slave bracelets to suppress all magic in the wearer."

Rhen snatched back her hand. "John. What are you _saying?"_

"I'm saying that Rhen Darzon is a magic wielder."

Rhen couldn't speak. She could hardly breathe. Some emotion coursed through her, something between despair and elation. She had _magic._ But... that changed everything. She couldn't just be Rhen Darzon anymore. She couldn't just be a Clearwater girl. The stories she devoured and adored from the comfort of her bed were now reversed. The real world was in her magic, and Clearwater was the fantasy, the dream.

"But..." It made no _sense._ There hadn't been a magic wielder in her family since... well, there hadn't even been a magic wielder in Clearwater since... _ever._ Herbalism and prayer were as close as Clearwater folk got to the arcane. "I... I can't be! My parents... _their_ parents... there's _no_ magic in my family, John!"

John gave her an exaggerated shrug. "I can't tell you why. I don't know that stuff. All I'm good for are legends and history."

Rhen realized she was staring at her hands. She looked up at John. "Ah... I... can you... back away, please?

John did as she said. She drew her sword unsteadily and turned to face the ocean, standing as straight as the mast behind her. She cleared her throat.

She didn't know what she was doing, but evidently, her body did. As she slashed her sword through the night air, her feet moved with the stoic rhythm she felt welling in her gut. It burst through her heart and into her lungs, and then out through her throat. She hummed as she spun. Then, she sang.

Her wordless tune matched her lunges and lashes perfectly. On the off-beats, sparks flew from her sword. She danced along the edge of the deck, battling an invisible opponent. Her voice reverberated across the water's surface, and the ocean quieted to hear her debut performance. Waves of force spun out from her sword, blowing the sails and nearly knocking John off his feet. She ended the verse on a high note, and light exploded forth from the rapier. The blaze cut through the night and vanished far out to sea.

Rhen stood at the bow and watched the sky as if she could still see the light hurtling through the air. John approached her cautiously from behind.

"Rhen." He stood and stammered through his breath for a moment. "Th-th... that... was _unbelievable."_

Rhen turned to look at John and sheathed her sword again. She stared through him and fidgeted with her hands. "I did that," she said.

"You did," said John.

Rhen sniffed and suddenly noticed the tears streaming down her salt-sprayed cheeks. She looked away and scratched her head. "And... you're certain this sword isn't magic?"

John cracked a weak smile. "Yeah."

They sat down together, both shaking a little, neither seeing quite clearly. Rhen's body felt light, as if it could float away at any moment. Her heart and her hands fluttered in sync. Both pirates were silent as the minutes passed. Rhen steadied her breathing. John took off his jacket.

After a long hush, John finally said, "If you wouldn't mind terribly, violet, you could try drumming us up a spot of wind."


	10. Te'ijal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a group of seven people, there is a 5.6% chance that two of them will share a birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for teenage drinking, reference to abuse. Language warning.

Sitting across from Lars on the covered veranda at the marina tavern was a vampire.

Under the table, where the vampire couldn't see, Lars clenched a fistful of the oversized linen tablecloth, his knuckles as white as her pasty face. With his other hand, he gripped his cup of watered-down shōchū. The earthenware kettle rested between them on the table, obscuring Lars' view of the unsettling black pendant hanging around her neck.

She sat with her elbows on the table, chin in her gloved hands. Lars couldn't help but marvel at the perfect dollop of red hair garnishing her head like a cloud of floss candy. He knew there were half a dozen bottles and cans of strange chemical products in the satchel currently hanging from the back of her chair; he'd seen her glob and spray them into her hair without even looking into a mirror. She had a long, almost regal face, her jaw a smidge lower than a normal human's to accommodate the barb-like fangs in her mouth. Her garb, half silk and half refined leather, would be outlandish on any continent; Lars was quietly grateful for the array of full-length cloaks she brought to wear in public. The high collar of her armored bodice just covered the topmost extreme of a massive gash Lars knew spanned her entire torso, from her neck to her waist.

She was smiling.

"Lars," she said, "you simply must tell me how old you are! Guessing is fun, of course, but I've been told I don't look a day over three hundred, which of course is _completely_ incorrect. Youthful looks can be deceiving."

She stared at him as he picked up his warm stone cup, drank from it, put it back down. He blinked. She drummed her fingers against her cheeks.

"So? How old, then?"

Lars sighed. "Seventeen."

She gasped. "Oh, that was so close to my guess! I was thinking maybe eighty or so; terribly young. Now you! Go on, guess my age. I bet you can't."

It was all Lars could do not to roll his eyes. He pretended the best he could to ponder thoughtfully, acting as if he hadn't heard her tell her age to every single member of the party at _least_ twice apiece. He bit his lip and hummed. "Mm... I'd say not a day over... five hundred and twenty eight."

The vampire's eyes widened. Her jaw dropped, and her arms fell to the table. Then, she giggled with glee. "Oh, to think just _yesterday,_ you would have been correct...! But today, a delightful day as it is every year, I am a robust five hundred and twenty _nine!"_ She chuckled again through her sharp teeth. "What an incredible guess! Are you a psychic mage?"

"Ah... no." _Of course the vampire's birthday would be on Halloween._

"Then you are terribly clever." She dropped her hands to rest in her lap, still smiling at Lars. "How beautiful! How _human."_

Lars let it go. His policy with the vampire was simple: let her talk, speak when and only when prompted, and do _not_ ruin her fun.

He wasn't entirely certain why Talia insisted Te'ijal Ravenfoot join them on their quest. Surely granting a vampire access to the world of living humans was a terrible idea. They would have to keep her ethical. They would have to keep her from eating people.

Te'ijal slapped a hand on the table and stood up. "I wish to speak with Talia. Do not hold my seat."

She left, apparently unaware that Lars was, at present, acting as her chaperone. He sighed. She could be Talia's problem for a while. Hopefully she wouldn't kill anyone between his table and Talia's downstairs.

Lars dragged his hands down his face and shook out the tension. Halloween Hills had been an odd experience, to say the least. Talia only brought enough garlic for herself, Lars, and Devin; the vampires wouldn't attack Vohu Manah, but when Elini wandered off alone to relieve herself in the blue woods, she was ambushed. She was quick and too cunning for the monster to catch before Devin crashed in and staked it from behind. Lars didn't like to think about the elevated flirting which subsequently occurred.

It confused Lars at first that Talia collected the ashes of the vampire Devin staked. Then, they found the lamp in the crypt; the inscription hinted that vampire ashes would illuminate the way to Leyrvo's maze. Talia told him about Leyrvo as they traversed the stone corridors. Lars couldn't believe how long the man had lived, vampire or not. Reflexively, he thought, _that must be unbearably lonely._

And, of course, he wondered what sort of freak would require the remains of his own kin in order to open the passage to his lair.

As Lars was soon to learn, a vampire was _exactly_ that sort of freak. Just before the party left Halloween Hills for the surface, some vampire found an entire head of elephant garlic and _ate_ it. Talia found his friend snickering at his ashes up on the overhang near the northern woods.

Te'ijal and her own morals caused Lars significant concern. The party journeyed to Veldarah after finding no ferry at the western docks, and Te'ijal picked up some sort of soul-eating pendant from the necromancer's shop. Luckily, the thing could hold only one soul at a time, and Te'ijal said something about "saving" it until she found a "truly delicious" soul to capture. At least half a dozen times, Devin had to restrain her from stalking humans with especially tasty-looking necks. She very slowly came to understand that she was not to bite anyone in the company of Talia and the druids, but Lars could only guess what she did when no one was looking--which was why someone was always, always looking.

There were worse things, though. There was, for instance, his mother.

They saw her in Veldarah that morning before they left once more for the docks. It seemed she'd been invited to some eccentric noble's Halloween party for the weekend. (Exactly how anyone on _this_ continent could gaily celebrate Halloween, Lars would never understand.) She stopped on the street only long enough to snap at him about _"keeping poor company"_ and _"neglecting school"_ before getting on her way.

He could handle it on just about any other day. But today, of all days... _today._

Lars rubbed his face again and stood to leave the restaurant. He got about halfway to the veranda door before he recalled what Talia did in the Wildwood Tavern. He turned around, fished a smattering of coins from his purse, set them on the table, and resumed his exit.

He also wanted to speak with Talia. Some melodramatic broodiness welled up in his chest every time he tried to think of what he'd say, something that wanted to be seen and understood without explaining itself. Some sort of self-entitled horseshit, he knew, but he couldn't unstop his throat long enough to form an honest sentence. He wanted to sulk and pout and glare and, like in some dramatic stage play, he wanted her to look at him and _know._

He emerged into the downstairs restaurant, and there she was, sitting at a table in her white robes, munching on an apple and smiling a little. That warmth washed over him again. He hadn't spoken to her much over the past few days, between their night in Halloween Hills, their initial carriage ride to the docks, their overnight foray to Veldarah, and their westward return through Ghalarah. She was always talking to Devin, and when she wasn't talking to Devin she was talking to Rashnu, and when she wasn't talking to Rashnu--well, outside of their sparse lessons, Lars didn't get much time with her. Even in their lessons, she seemed... distant, almost deliberately so. When she looked at him, her face grew tired.

The thought stung Lars. He left the tavern with only a nod in her direction. Te'ijal's cheerful "Adieu, Lars!" bit him on his way out through the door.

Not a cloud dotted the sky that day. The sun was at its zenith and Lars recalled that he meant to order lunch before leaving. It didn't matter, he decided; the warmth of the shōchū made him feel full. He smelled salt and soft wood. Sailors' voices and seagulls felt small and quiet in the face of the tremendous sky. Lars had never spent much time at the docks. For one thing, there was too much wind. He drew his cloak closer around his shoulders over his student uniform.

He looked over at the little ketch floating where the ferry normally docked. A fishing vessel, he'd learned. Former fishing vessel. The fisherman, a Veldarah merchant and family man, had ensnared an early retirement just the night before.

Lars knew the rest of the party wasn't ready to leave, and they didn't know how they'd be leaving, either. The other ships at port, including a carrack larger than any structure he had ever seen, seemed willing to take on one or two extra passengers for a few coins. Unfortunately, there were... Lars counted on his fingers. There were seven of them now; two rescued druids, a woodsman, a vampire, a demon summoner, a priestess, and himself. No captain wanted to take on so many passengers. No captain wanted to take on even one vampire, at that.

Te'ijal and her presence frustrated Lars to no end, but he did... _understand_ her, in a way. Five centuries of living in the same town with the same people, likely never leaving Halloween Hills but for one night each month to snack on idle huntsmen in the woods--Lars had enough trouble stuck in Ghalarah for sixteen and a half years, and even he got to visit the capital every once in a while. The vampress seemed lonely. Bored. In search of a story.

So he didn't complain when she asked to join their party. They were happy to have her with them to fight the demon Zarich. She was extremely skilled with a bow; Lars would always remember how she saved him from a near-deadly blast with a well-timed arrow. And he couldn't forget the horrific injury she sustained, the bone-deep slash down her torso which no living creature could have survived. Lars might have thanked her for that had she not subsequently joked about how he would've looked had the attack landed on him. By the time they rescued Rashnu, the party made a gruesome, haggard scene, smeared with blood, their clothes ripped and muddy. Te'ijal offered, of all things, to wash their laundry before they left, so they stayed the night in her house. Lars smeared his bedroll with garlic paste.

The next morning, after her guests politely declined a sumptuous breakfast of raw mystery meat, Te'ijal bade them all a fond farewell. Talia hugged Te'ijal, and Lars' hand leapt to the staff strapped to his back, ready to cremate the vampire if she harmed the priestess.

Te'ijal held Talia by the shoulders and sighed through her smile. "How I wish I could visit the surface! Such a beautiful place, such beautiful people with fascinating lives."

Talia's eyes widened sympathetically. "Just as I couldn't leave the dream world until the return of the demons, you too are bound to the darkness, my friend."

"If only I had sunscreen, I could walk in the light." Te'ijal dropped her arms and looked down.

Elini cleared her throat.

Everyone turned to look at her.

"The... screen of sun, is it?"

"Yes?"

Elini reached into her hip satchel and removed a tube of sunscreen. No one spoke for a moment.

"Elini..." said Te'ijal. "You have sunscreen?"

"I bought it at the docks upon my arrival to the eastern continent," Elini explained, uncharacteristically sheepish. "I thought it may be a spell. A... a screen of sun." She waved her hands above her head as if to demonstrate. "But it is not."

Lars made a mental note not to tell her about bug spray.

"You have sunscreen?" Te'ijal repeated, joy glittering in her eyes.

"Yes, my friend, and it is yours," said Elini, handing Te'ijal the sunscreen.

And that was how Te'ijal came to join the party, and how Elini firmly cemented her position as Te'ijal's dearest friend of all time.

No one asked her to, but Te'ijal pledged to aid the party in their search for Rhen. It wasn't clear whether she truly _cared_ about the party's quest for their missing wunderkind, or whether she especially cared about saving the world, or whether she just found her new humans interesting to observe. No one was going to ask her to leave. She was by far the most skilled in combat, and Lars figured it would be safer for the world if they kept her under close supervision. Oh, the sacrifices they made for the good of the masses.

Lars hoped she wouldn't think it reasonable to acquire a birthday snack. He wanted to get out on the water quickly before she started any trouble. Hopefully at least one person in their company knew the first thing about sailing a ship.

He stretched his hands and rolled his neck, enjoying the open sunlight. He felt a sweet rush in his body, as if a waterfall cascaded from his skull down his spine. He recalled he'd just consumed an entire kettle full of strong barley alcohol. That was nice.

His fingers felt a little thick as they unclasped the second purse from his belt. He'd counted the coins inside six times since this morning. It might have been a pleasant gesture to only take the coins and leave his mother's favorite purse empty on her nightstand. Lars wouldn't lie to himself, though; he was out of pleasant gestures to offer that woman.

The middle-aged fisherman sat in a folding chair on the pier next to his old ketch, exactly where he and Lars agreed to meet. He tented his hands and smiled mildly as Lars approached.

Lars held out the purse. "As agreed, five thousand coins in equival... uh, equivalent legal tender," he said, his slow tongue tripping a bit.

The fisherman took Lars' purse and looked inside. "That looks right. Thank you, young man." With quick hands, the man emptied the purse's contents into his inner jacket pocket. He returned the purse to Lars, along with the deed to his boat. They shook hands, and the fisherman left.

Devin returned from the boat supply at the end of the marina and strode directly to the ketch. The fisherman was gone by the time he arrived.

In his quiet voice, he asked, "Lars, did you just buy a ship?"

"Yeah," said Lars, not turning to look at him. He tucked the title into his pocket.

Devin walked around Lars to face him. Lars crossed his arms.

"Are you all right?" asked Devin.

"Absolutely."

Talia, who'd gathered the party on the boardwalk, joined Lars and Devin. Devin bowed out to inspect the ketch.

"Where did you get the money for this?" she asked, sweeping her eyes over the sails.

Lars took a deep breath, tucked the stolen purse deep into his pocket behind the boat deed. "It's a birthday present."

Te'ijal touched a cheek with her sharp-nailed fingers. "Oh, Lars! You bought _me_ a birthday present? How absolutely splendid of you! The generosity of surface folk--"

"From whom?" asked Talia, cutting Te'ijal off.

Lars clenched his lips in a thin line.

"Okay." Talia turned back to their small entourage. "Devin and I have some experience sailing a boat, so we'll direct activity and model correct ways to sail. We ask that everyone contributes to the best of their abilities. The voyage to the northern continent should take about a day and a half. Devin and Lars will purchase supplies before we leave. If anyone needs anything specific, please speak to Devin."

Talia ushered Elini and the druids onto the boat. Te'ijal insisted upon accompanying the cargo crew, beaming at Lars the entire time. Lars thought she looked a bit like she wanted to eat him.

The wholesale food shop had some sort of Halloween special on sweets, but Lars passed them by. Te'ijal had fun browsing the soaps, smelling each bar and telling Lars exactly how it differed from the one before. Devin filled a barrel with plain-scented, multi-purpose soap. Lars rolled out a large barrel of dark rum, of which Devin approved. Devin filled a crate with limes; Te'ijal didn't care for them.

She gave them a little trouble when they found the travel cakes. Te'ijal had evidently heard of the human tradition of birthday cakes. No matter how Devin explained to her that they were not the same type of cake, she persisted.

"Every birthday, humans pray over their cakes for a sweet new year!" Te'ijal explained, confident in her knowledge. "They put candles in the cake, and the holy wax melts over the frosting. And then the fire is blown out to demonstrate the strength of the human's lungs, to show that they will live yet another full year! I have studied this; do _not_ tell me that I am wrong!"

For the first time in a while, Lars couldn't stop a laugh from bubbling up. When he snickered, it seemed as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

"Please, Devin; I wish to experience the holy birthday as the humans do!" She tugged on his sleeve for the third time and pointed at the travel cakes. "I want the red one."

Lars felt the smile stick on his face and didn't bother erasing it. Even with her fangs flashing like snow-capped peaks in the sun, Te'ijal seemed less monstrous than a dock alley cat.

He felt lighter.

Devin bought Te'ijal a travel cake without asking her whether she'd actually eat it, and Lars filled a small box with sweet bean candy on their way to the register. The cashier wished them a happy Halloween and, upon Te'ijal's badgering, a "ceremonious birthday".

Setting sail was a straightforward affair and the ketch was cutting through the ocean before sundown. Talia decided it would be best to follow the coast to the north and make port at the dock just below the mountains. Although the ship was seaworthy, she thought it safest to stay in the shallows for now.

Lars had never been on a boat before. It didn't entirely register at first that he wasn't on land and couldn't step off the boat onto his home continent. When the party sat down for dinner, though, it finally sunk in. He felt so small under the broad sky as it darkened. Rashnu cast some spell to preserve the humans' vision in the dimming light, and the seven travelers sat in a small circle on the deck. Once the crumbs were cleared away, Talia conjured her lute and Vohu Manah a modest pair of drums. They sang together as their companions counted the stars, whispered to one another, watched intently.

Lars sat between Elini and Te'ijal. Sitting close to the vampress didn't seem so dangerous now. Her mouth was closed as she took in the sky. It occurred to Lars that there was no sky in Halloween Hills. He wondered whether she'd ever seen the stars on her hunts.

Talia began strumming an upbeat tune. Lars felt Vohu Manah's drumbeats in his heart. He nodded his head to the beat. Feeling his motion, Te'ijal looked down from the stars to him. She grinned.

"Do you know what vampires do on their birthdays?"

Lars looked back at her. "What?"

"We dance! All day. There is organ music in the chapel, and we put on our finest gowns and coattails, and we all come together and dance. There is always a special dance for the honoree."

The corner of Lars' mouth quirked upward. "I don't think I've wished you a happy birthday yet."

Te'ijal's eyes widened. "A _happy_ birthday! Oh, they will _love_ that back in Ghed'ahre."

They grinned at one another for an easy moment.

"Lars, would you grant me the honor of my birthday dance?"

_Oh... why not._

Lars took Te'ijal's hand. They stood together and the circle widened for them. Talia's melody picked up as they swayed and twirled. Te'ijal led the dance as if the old ship was a formal ballroom, but as the music's pulse accelerated, they let go, spun and stomped like children. Devin, Elini, and Rashnu clapped along, hooting and hollering for the dancers. A grin was plastered on Lars' face.

The song ended, and Lars and Te'ijal fell to the floor where they stood, breathless and laughing.

"Happy birthday, Te'ijal," said Elini.

"Yes! Happy birthday to yo-o-ou," sang Vohu Manah.

Talia, then Devin, then Elini and Rashnu joined the song. "Happy birthday to yo-o-ou!"

Lars felt something suddenly catch in his throat. He sang anyway.

"Happy birthday, Te'ija-a-al! Happy birthday to yo-o-ou!"

Te'ijal pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh... how _exquisite!_ How delightful! Thank you, my friends!"

Lars tried to smile, but he felt his mouth wobbling, so he looked at the sky instead.

As the moon rose, each of the party slowly left the upper deck to go to sleep. Te'ijal went belowdecks with Elini; the two women were chattering excitedly about one thing or another. Before long, only Talia and Lars remained.

Standing on the quarterdeck, Talia gestured for Lars to join her. He stood beside her, leaning on the rail. They stared at the ocean in silence for a minute.

"You're doing very well in your studies," she said eventually. "I'm glad the headmaster gave you permission to travel."

"I'm learning a lot on the road," he responded.

"I think you do your best magic when you're in the thick of a challenge." Lars could hear the smile in Talia's voice without looking.

That something clogging Lars' throat was back. It felt like it wanted to force itself out through his mouth. His head was heavy. There was no way he could function like this.

"I'm... I'm glad," he finally said, choking out the words from a shallow place in his chest. "I'm glad to be traveling. I'm glad to be... away."

Talia turned to look him in the eye. "Away from what?"

"Just away."

She nodded, the lines in her face sketching a portrait of concern, and every emotion Lars had ever felt about her came rushing back in that one moment.

"And I'm glad that I'm here with you."

Talia closed her eyes and smiled again, very slowly, something trembling in her cheeks. Lars thought he saw tears hiding beneath her lashes. When she opened her eyes, they were gone.

"I'm glad, too," she said. "Lars, did you know... do you know that I have a son?"

Lars couldn't explain the tremor that ran through his bones.

"No, I didn't."

"He's about your age. He's got a... fire in him, too." Talia sighed quietly. "I miss him very much."

Lars swallowed. "What's his name?"

"Dameon."

The jealousy Lars felt when he met Devin had slashed away his aloof paradigm, forced his eyes open until he'd do anything to close them again. It exposed him to a part of himself he'd never believed in. It rushed in like sand, filling him up, making him heavy. And it was a pittance compared to the envious blaze that burnt him up the instant she said that name.

"I think we're going to see him when we reach Aveyond," Talia continued. "It would make me so happy were you to become friends."

The heat fell through Lars like rain, leaving behind a raw chill. He rubbed his arms. He wanted to tell her. He thought he could tell her, and she'd understand. He just didn't know how to say it.

"Talia... what... what does it feel like?"

"What?"

"Family."

Talia hesitated. Lars' head spun.

Then, she stepped closer to him and draped her arm over his back. Her thumb stroked circles over his shoulder. She leaned her head into his, orange hair mingling with green, and they stared out across the ocean together for longer than Lars bothered to measure. The thing stuck in his throat broke, and his shoulders shook under her arm. Silent tears streamed from his eyes, and he didn't wipe them right away.

A stiff wind blew in from the gathering clouds to the west. Talia let him go, squeezing his hand as she left.

"Happy birthday, Lars."


	11. Fellowship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One stage of his journey is over. Another begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Rhen.  
> I could do this all day.)

Lars and Talia spent the next day on the ketch talking and training, and Lars knew he'd never felt so in sync with another person. They dueled on the quarterdeck a few times, Devin watching to ensure no part of the wood-and-cloth vessel caught aflame. They countered one another's spells effortlessly, Talia aware of the incantations Lars had learned and Lars predicting her next actions based on her movement and position. She always bent her right knee before casting a ward, and when she sidestepped away from the wheel, he knew she meant to manipulate the wind.

And when they spoke, Talia laughed at Lars' quips. Not because she was supposed to, not because she wanted to get in his good graces, not even because she was coddling him. She just laughed. Lars wanted to tell nothing but jokes if it meant she'd keep laughing like that.

They slept one more night on the ketch before docking the next morning. Devin and Lars secured the mooring lines together while the rest of the party gathered their things. It was brisk on the northern isle, and Lars knew the weather would only grow colder as they ventured inland through the mountains.

Lars shivered as they tied down the ropes. The scratchy hemp felt even more abrasive on Lars' bare hands in the cold air. He remembered for a brief moment the steamy jungle around Ghalarah, and his teeth began to chatter.

Devin shot him a sympathetic look. "So cold out here, it's a wonder there's a liquid ocean at all," he offered with a smile.

"Actually, the freezing point of the ocean is much lower than the freezing point of regular water due to the high salt content," Lars responded flatly.

Devin's smile grew awkward, and he turned back to the mooring lines. Belatedly, Lars realized that the older man had just tried to connect with him. To offer a proverbial olive branch in the form of levity. To _jest._

"Ah... but I hear it's so cold in Thornkeep that you can spit icicles," he amended hastily.

Devin chuckled at that. Lars stared at him, a slow grin pressing into his frozen cheeks until he felt like they'd crack. _That was a real laugh, too._

They worked in silence for a moment.

"So," Devin said eventually, "since Talia and I will be staying in Aveyond for now, I think that puts you in charge of the mission."

Lars fumbled and dropped his line. "Ah... right, I suppose it does."

"You have seniority, and I think you have the most personal connection to the case."

"Personal?" Lars struggled to knot the rope with numb fingers.

"For better or worse, you'll be the one who knows Rhen the best. And I've noticed it in you, too."

"Noticed what?"

"You care about this."

Both were silent for a moment. Lars moved toward the stern to tie the last line.

"No matter how aloof you act, I can tell." Devin finished his knot and walked over to stand beside Lars. He leaned on a mooring post. "Talia can't always. Her emotions sometimes blind her to the emotions of others. She... she sees the world in you, you know."

"I've never heard you speak this much before."

Devin shrugged, his massive fur hood slipping down his forehead. "Anyway. This isn't your burden to shoulder alone. I think Talia plans to send you off with someone nearly as competent as she."

He turned away and headed for the inland path where the party waited. Lars finished tying down the last line, shoved his stinging hands into his pockets, and ran to join them.

Knowing that his time with Talia might be nearly over, he cemented his spot in the pack walking next to her. The fallen snow, as well as the snow still falling, hampered their movement a little. Talia caught Lars once or twice when he nearly stumbled over snowdrifts face-first into the ground. She chuckled when he shook the snow from his hair and droplets hit her puffy, red cheeks.

Almost reflexively, Lars wondered whether he'd ever heard Rona laugh like that.

Their idle conversation turned to training quickly. Bearlike oxen and ice-white wolves stalked and rushed them as they forged deeper into the north. Lars led the charge with powerful incantations, exercising every tactic he'd learned so far, while Elini backed him up with her whip, Te'ijal fired arrows at key opportunities, and Talia intervened with defensive spells when Lars failed to check his six. Elini sustained a scratch and Lars a bruise, but the fighting party tamed the woods with little difficulty.

The heat of battle warmed Lars, but he found himself shivering in the quiet, empty moments between. He recalled the first lesson he ever had with Talia, the exercise in creative problem-solving or whatever she'd called it, and it dawned on him that he'd come up with a solution to the cold in their very first scenario. He faced his hands away from his chest and squinted, not daring to close his eyes in concentration lest he fall again. Slowly, he pushed out and to his sides.

Talia understood what he was doing as soon as he started. "Lars, this is a delicate approach... are you sure you--" She stopped speaking when Lars, who didn't turn to look at her, nodded sharply. Noting the radius of his spell, she moved away from her pupil.

Lars wasn't sure what he was looking for as he cast his spell. He couldn't see anything different around him. He sort of expected the air to waver like it did on a sweltering day in the jungle. He held his hands up at his sides for a moment as they walked, waiting for something to happen. Something to snap in place, perhaps.

He felt water trickle down his face. Blinking it out of his eye, he abandoned his stance and wiped it away. _Ugh. That's what I get for trying._

More water dripped down the back of his neck. At once, he could feel all of the snow melting off of his body. He glanced up and saw the snow falling toward him suddenly turning to rain just before hitting his head. He removed his gloves; although the wind buffeted him, he didn't feel it bite his hands, or his nose, his ears. His face cracked into an involuntary smile as he realized what he'd done. He looked to Talia.

Her eyebrows lifted high as she watched the snow turn to rain. "Lars... did you do it?"

"Yeah," he said, a little breathless in the sudden change of temperature. "You want me to cast it on you, too?"

"Let me try it." Talia mimicked Lars' motion, a little smoother, a little quicker. Within seconds, Lars saw the snow melting over her face. She grinned and unbuttoned her oversized jacket. "Lars, this is incredible."

"I just invented a spell," he murmured, eyes alight.

"You never would've learned to do that at school, huh?" teased Talia. "Maybe do our friends a favor and cast it a few more times."

With increasing ease, Lars cast the one-way thermal shield on each of their companions. Devin took it in stride and fixed Lars with a warm look. The druids thanked him cordially, although Lars suspected the cold didn't affect them nearly as much as it did the humans. Te'ijal politely declined the shield. Elini was _delighted._

"Lars, you are truly to become a master of your craft!" she crowed, and hugged him. Lars was glad to discover the shield wasn't affected by the proximity of other people. "I too have innovated in the practice of demon summoning, but to make a new _spell_ is wonderful. In Veldt, you would be regarded as--well, perhaps not so much, as we have no need for heat spells in Veldt--but as a... what do you say... a prodigal sorcerer."

Lars didn't even care how awkward the embrace felt through the bulk of their heavy clothing. He grinned like a possum the whole way through.

The rest of the journey from the forest to the mountain pass went much faster as the warmth from the shields reinvigorated the group. The pass itself was surprisingly well-maintained, free of hostile creatures and emanating a strange magic Lars couldn't identify. The magic feeling grew stronger as they headed further east. Lars guessed it had something to do with Aveyond itself. Aveyond, the most magical land in Aia... it surprised him a little that they could simply travel there on foot.

The snow faded behind them, replaced by the greenest grass Lars had seen in his life, speckled with vibrant wildflowers. The exit from the pass was lined with increasingly massive toadstools. Lars looked up and saw not even a trace of snow-laden clouds in the crystal blue sky. He dared to dispel his thermal shield, and found that the air here was fresh, light, and temperate. With a wave of his hand, he dispelled the others' shields as well.

Lars pretended not to be dazzled by the lush landscape around them, but he knew Talia caught him staring into the distance more than once. It was only her, so... he didn't care. Maybe, he realized, he wanted her to know what he thought. _Everything_ he thought.

_Am I in love with Talia?_

Lars furrowed his brow at the notion. He'd never been in love, and he didn't pay much attention to romance in stories, so it was difficult to say. _When you're in love, you'd do anything to make the other person happy. They comfort you, and... excite you? They make you feel safe. And they make you feel other things. But... what other things?_ Lars glanced at Talia. When he looked at her, he knew he was safe, he knew he was heard, he knew someone cared enough to do incredible things for him, but--what else was he supposed to feel? He had so little frame of reference for love, so few memories he could call upon to prove he'd wanted another person close to him....

 _Have I ever... felt_ any _kind of love?_

He knew the answer. It revived the frozen pang that had ravaged his chest in the stark forest.

The thoughts stopped in their tracks when a tiny, white kitten walked out in front of them. Lars was torn between "what an odd place for a kitten" and "is it going to fight us?" and "is it in danger here?" and "its eyes are a little creepy" and couldn't pick an idea to follow before it spoke.

"Have you visited the Sun Shrine yet? It is to the east of here."

Lars couldn't conjure a single thought in response.

His eyes drifted to the right, and he saw at the road's fork a crude wooden sign reading "Teacup Town". In the distance beyond a row of mushrooms surrounding the gravel path, there was in fact a structure like a gigantic blue teapot complete with a smoking chimney-spout and tiny windows. He turned back to the cat, hoping that by the time he opened his mouth he'd have thought of something to say, but it was already gone.

"Binis," said Talia, clicking her tongue. "It's best not to ask questions. Let's move on."

It didn't take them long to reach the ascent to the Sun Shrine. Vohu Manah hummed with displeasure at the large bees patrolling the summit.

"I thought the sun priest took care of this," he grumbled, less melodic than usual.

"He's been away for a while," Talia responded quietly as Te'ijal impaled a bee on an arrow behind her.

The druids and Talia strode between the pillars as if the shrine was the house of a lifelong friend. Lars followed behind.

Light streamed into the temple through the northern windows. In the center of the intricately tiled floor sat a shallow, square pool like the one in the Shrine of Music. Two downward staircases led to what Lars assumed was an underground basement. Meticulously nourished cypress trees and pink hydrangea lined the grey brick walls. A woman clad in blue stood in the corner; Lars recognized her as a more corporeal version of the Oracle he'd encountered in his cousin's throne room. She and Talia met one another near the center of the sanctuary, Devin hanging close behind the priestess.

"You have come," observed the Oracle. "How was your journey, Dreamer?"

"Eventful, but I believe productive," replied Talia. "We rescued Rashnu from the wrath of the demons. Vohu Manah was struck down, too, but he was revived." She cleared her throat. "By the girl."

"Rhen Pendragon," the Oracle said, holding Talia's gaze as it faltered. "You have not brought her."

"She evaded us. We believe she's running for her home in Clearwater."

As Talia and the Oracle spoke, an unfamiliar robed figure sporting half a head of hair emerged from the rightmost staircase. The stranger narrowed his dark brown eyes as he surveyed the traveling party, his smooth, leather-colored skin pulled tight over his high cheekbones. In two strides, he stood behind the Oracle as if guarding her, arms crossed.

_"I think we're going to see him when we reach Aveyond."_

Lars' gaze snapped directly to the newcomer. The robes the stranger wore were as elegant as those of the druids Lars had met, silk dyed decadent maroon and chartreuse, embroidered with gold thread. The unshorn hair on his head obscured half of his face, casting a dark shadow over his already stern but gradually softening expression. The skillfully braided and beaded beard on the stranger's chin made his face look even longer than it already was. Staring intensely, Lars drank in the sight of this fellow, searching for an answer in his cloaked shape. Lars knew the broad cut of the stranger's jaw. He knew the nebulous brown of those vigilant eyes. The low, serious brow.

_"What's his name?"_

_"Dameon."_

The stranger met his stare.

"Lars, do you understand the mission you are to complete?" asked the Oracle, jerking Lars' attention back to their important conversation and away from... whatever unimportant thing had just occurred. She extended a wrinkled hand to him. "The retrieval of the lost princess, Rhen Pendragon, shall be your responsibility. Only she can wield the Sword of Shadows to destroy Ahriman for good. You must succeed for the survival of our world."

"Oh... yes." Lars shivered suddenly. He must have missed a lot. "I'll take over for Talia. She's taught me everything I need to know."

The Oracle chuckled. "Not quite, young man."

In a wave of rippling robes, the stranger stepped forward. "I am Dameon, the druid of the sun. I shall supplant my mother's role in your guidance and training."

Lars' mouth soured. The searing discontent he'd suppressed for two long nights threatened to resurface, and the sound of that impossibly smooth voice flipped something in his gut upside-down and sideways. Refusing to let the tortuous unease display on his face, he calmly met Dameon's gaze once more.

"I believe I'm prepared to lead this mission."

A smile pulled Dameon's lips toward his lofty cheekbones, but it didn't quite reach his reticent eyes. "Of course. However, as you are still a student, you require a tutor. I shall assume that duty."

Lars' cheeks burned, and he was suddenly, acutely aware of the drab apprentice garb under his coat. _What am I even doing here?_ No. No, he pushed that thought away. "I'm honored to learn under the tutelage of the sun druid."

Dameon nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Lars, I believe."

"Right." Lars glanced at Talia. She was staring at them with affection, barely concealing the excitement under her skin. No, she wasn't staring at _them._ She was staring at... _him._

Dameon followed Lars' gaze and turned about halfway to Talia, his mane of hair nearly concealing his face from her. "Mother," he said, a sting in his voice.

Now Lars narrowed his eyes. He didn't care for the way Dameon spoke to her.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"Dameon is... upset... with me, due to... something long in the past," said Talia. The hesitation in her voice put Lars on full alert.

"You brush off father's death lightly," said Dameon, his tone cool between his teeth.

Talia's mouth shut. Lars saw the clench in her jaw, the sharp angle of her brows... and he saw them again when he looked to Dameon.

It was a moment before Dameon wiped his face of expression and threw Lars a conciliatory smile. "Forgive me, Lars. You didn't come here to become embroiled in my family conflict. The Oracle has spoken highly of you. I hear that your sorcery is exceptionally powerful."

Lars took a second to react. Something was a little... off.

"Yes, some might say so," he replied coolly after a beat. He and Dameon stared one another down. Lars wouldn't break his ice, and he got the sense that Dameon wasn't the type of man to drop a facade.

"Well, then," Dameon finally countered, "should you have questions, I'm here to answer them. We will, of course, continue the lessons you've been receiving as we travel together."

"I look forward to it."

Lars nodded curtly and turned toward the doorway, Devin pressing a hand to his shoulder as he passed. He made a beeline for Te'ijal and Elini, the only two still lingering away from the mess of clergy and nobility in the center of the room. Te'ijal leaned against a tall planter, watching the humans contentedly. Elini sat on a chair near the south wall, filing a fingernail. The sight of them was... comforting, somehow. Almost like the sight of Talia. They were familiar, and at least one of them was relatively reliable. More importantly, when they were there, it meant Lars wasn't alone.

"Elini," he said, suddenly regretting every disparaging thought he'd had about her since the day they met. "I'm to lead the rest of our journey alongside the sun priest. As you already know, Talia, Devin, and the druids will all stay here in Aveyond. Would... would you..." Lars closed his eyes. "...stay with me until I find Rhen?"

She stared up at him, studying his face. "Child..."

Then, she looked past Lars, her eyes focused on some unknown thing behind him. She stared for a moment, lips still parted as if in speech.

She blinked back to him. "Master Tenobor. You have proven yourself and your abilities in my sight. Be you apprentice or adept, I wish to follow you in your quest. You will need many hands to save the world."

Lars breathed a quiet sigh of relief through his nose. "I'm glad."

"You are welcome. Will the vampress accompany us?"

"That's my next question."

Lars shook hair out of his face and approached Te'ijal. Her eyes flicked to rest on him, but she didn't move another muscle.

"Te--"

"Yes, of course I will," said Te'ijal. "I am having a delightful time."

"Okay. That's good." Lars raised an eyebrow. "I'm relieved that I can count on you."

Te'ijal raised one back, then pointed behind him silently. He turned to look.

Dameon and Talia stood in the opposite corner of the room. Talia's arms were crossed, and she was hunched over ever so slightly in a posture Lars had never seen her assume before. Dameon towered over her, gesturing sharply as he spoke in a whisper. His arms swept above him, then towards the altar, then at Lars and his small entourage. Talia raised a finger to point at him, but he cut her off as soon as she whispered back, slicing his arm through the air between them.

Lars crouched into an active stance before he realized what he was doing. Tense, he lowered his hand from his staff and instead pushed forward to hear. He couldn't hear their hushed words clearly through the solemn discussion between the druids and the Oracle.

But he didn't need to. Talia's fury exploded through the room. "AND IF I HADN'T, THE ENTIRE _WORLD_ WOULD BE FORFEIT!" she shouted. Every face in the room snapped to the scene in the corner. "WHICH DO YOU--"

"SO YOU _KILLED_ HIM!" roared Dameon. "YOU PREACH FOR LOVE, AND THEN YOU MURDER IT!"

"HOW COULD I--"

"THROW HIM IN _JAIL,_ MOTHER!" he bellowed. "STRIP HIM OF PRIESTHOOD! REHABILITATE HIM! THE FIRST THING YOU THINK TO DO TO THE _FATHER_ OF YOUR OWN _SON_ IS TO--"

"Enough," said the Oracle, and that was the end of it.

Dameon stormed past the pool. "Heartless, faithless, deceitful _monster,"_ he muttered, and thundered through the doorway.

Before he knew what he was doing, Lars rocketed out of the shrine after Dameon. The red heat in his chest burst into pure, unbridled rage. He couldn't, _wouldn't,_ stop himself from whatever he was about to do.

He stomped in front of Dameon, smashing a cluster of wildflowers by the edge of the path. "How _dare_ you say that about Talia?!" he hissed, fists balled by his sides.

Dameon sniffed. "What do you care? This isn't your business."

"It is _very much_ my business if you intend to fight twenty feet away from me," Lars snapped.

"Listen to me carefully, and we won't have any trouble," growled Dameon. "Talia is _my_ mother. She killed _my_ father. _Mine._ Not yours."

"No!" Lars' head pounded as he yelled. "She's not my mother! But I would give the entire _world_ to have a mother like Talia!"

They stared one another down in silence. Dameon gradually unclenched his face, and Lars could all but hear the machinery working in the priest's head. He slowly released his stance, still wary. The look Dameon gave him changed from one of malice to one of... sympathy.

"Lars..." he murmured. "I understand."

Lars glared. He saw all the signs of honesty on that face, but nothing Dameon did made any _sense._ Spiteful one moment, supportive the next. A sun priest drawn in shadows. How could he believe the words of an inconsistent ally?

_He's the sun druid. He's got more healing magic than every mage on Aia combined, plus he's the only person ANYWHERE who can cast a revival spell. As long as he wants to play buddies, might as well play along._

He brushed past Dameon toward the temple. "Come on. The sun is already high, and I want us on the ocean by nightfall. It's a long journey to the western isle."

So the party of four left the Sun Temple. Parting from Talia was, as expected, bittersweet. Lars was glad she was safely where she needed to be, though he was quite sure she'd be safe even on her own, but he couldn't stifle the remorse he felt as they descended from the temple mount. He'd just _learned_ something, something infinitely more valuable than any magic lesson he'd ever attended, something that could change his whole life if he wanted it to, and he _did_ want it to. And he knew he had no choice, but she was vanishing, still and unwavering on the path behind him, and he felt as if he'd suddenly grown up all at once.

When he left Rona's house, he felt nothing. When he left Talia, he felt everything.

He knew he must have looked a wreck, face twisted with emotion next to Dameon's stony demeanor. He wondered where the sun priest had been all this time. Why abandon his temple when he was needed most, at the summit of the world's end?

Elini broke formation to walk beside Lars. She rested her hand on his shoulder. "There is pain in your step, Lars," she said, her voice low.

He turned her head just enough to see her face. Her complexion was always flawless, but now, Lars could see lines on her face he'd never noticed before. The creases under her eyes, while they lent her a dignified regality, darkened her expression in a way Lars didn't expect of the blithesome southerner. She brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes.

"I think you found what you most needed in one of our absent companions."

Lars bristled. "And what did you find in them?" he retorted, then immediately regretful of the bitterness in his tone.

Elini's face tightened, her lips drawn into a troubled frown. Then, she relaxed, turned her face to him as sunlight glinted off the steel ring in her nose, and granted him a tired smile.

"I believe my quest is not yet complete."

Lars nodded almost absently, staring ahead at the overgrown path. "You and me both, Elini."

She gave his back a hefty pat and returned to walk with Te'ijal. Lars, suddenly sick of their slow pace, plowed ahead of Dameon, all but jogging down the path. He waved an arm behind so they knew not to run after him.

He hustled past Teacup Town, ignoring the bini mewing at him beside the shallow cliff. A little copse of willows marked the southern passage through the hills. Dodging a bee and sneaking past a griffon, Lars vaulted up the overhang and stood in the trees, surveying the land sloping down below.

Something twinkled in the east. Lars squinted.

_A... fairy?_

"Lars! Come down or we shall leave you behind," called Te'ijal from the path behind him.

Lars shook his head, blinked, and looked again. The fairy was still there. It seemed to be collecting something from the flowers, not unlike a honeybee but very distinctly humanoid. Its gossamer wings fluttered almost too quickly for Lars to see.

_Of course. Of course there are fairies in Aveyond._

"Lars!" shouted Elini.

He finally turned around and sprinted back toward his party, but he couldn't get the glimmering apparition out of his mind as they traveled. The journey back to the pier would take the rest of the afternoon, so Lars made no more stops along the road, even when he could swear he saw another fairy darting behind a toadstool.

When they reached the snowy mountain pass, Lars demonstrated his thermal shield spell to Dameon, then cast it on Elini and himself. The sun priest acted impressed, almost in the way another student might flatter Lars' work at school. Nothing like Talia. Lars decided not to care about the authenticity of Dameon's camaraderie, so he shrugged it off with a "thanks." They had a group dynamic to maintain. Lars couldn't let his icy mistrust get in the way of his mission.

It would be three days of forced companionship and slow thawing aboard Lars' ketch before they would pull into the near docks on the western continent next to a scratched, dented, and thoroughly slimed sloop bearing the name "Queen Sarah".


	12. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for brief discussion of slavery. Mild language warning.
> 
> Sooo, hey, everybody! Since I've basically hit 50k as of this chapter (I know I'm like a hundred words under just let me have this), I want to celebrate a little! First of all, and most importantly, I want to send a serious shout-out to @iztopher, my test reader and, frankly, my writing inspiration; she's pretty much responsible for rekindling my childhood adoration of Aveyond. Thank you for swapping headcanons with me and collaborating on a small empire of self-indulgent fics and ideas.
> 
> Second of all, this fic has really started to fall naturally into place. I've been planning chapters and plot threads since before the first installment of Rhenegade was published. You may have noticed up top that this fic now has an estimated length of 30 chapters! That number isn't completely certain at the moment, and the epilogue (which, believe it or not, I've already written) might add an extra chapter to that figure, but 30 is what I have planned. I know exactly what each character's "ending" will be as of last night, which is super exciting for me! Also, keep an eye out for a teeny-tiny alteration to the ship tags... Not just yet, but soon.
> 
> Here's to another 50k!

"Why are you using a bowline? I told you, like, three times that you're supposed to use the clove hitch for--"

 _"You_ told me the clove hitch is only for short-term docking! We--"

"Yeah, and we're not _mooring_ here! I'm-- _I'm_ not mooring here! I'm going to... to...."

"What, take this spliced _log_ back out to sea?"

"Well--"

"Look," said Rhen, planting her feet firmly in front of John. "I don't know how long we--how long you're going to be staying, and given our _history_ with faulty knots, it's safer to use a bowline anyway."

John sighed. Rhen's face was set; there was no arguing with her. He rubbed his forehead as she turned back to her work. "Fine, bowline, whatever. But I'm not redoing the clove hitches I already tied."

"Your boat. Suit yourself."

A humongous passenger barque, the only other ship at the western continent's eastern docks, was leaving as the Queen Sarah arrived. The smashed, splintery, and somewhat gooey sloop was still miraculously functional upon docking, but next to the barque, it looked one sturdy gust of wind away from sinking like a lead penny. John said he was just glad there were few other sailors around to pass judgment on his boat. This was not the trading hub of the western continent by any stretch of the imagination; _that_ was Sedona. A merchant's card was required to travel between the Sedonan peninsula and the rest of the continent, including Clearwater, so making port in Sedona wasn't an option for Rhen and John. The marina here wasn't bad; there was a small merchant's pier, an inn, and a couple of taverns. It was a decent and frequent stop for civilian travelers.

"One last time, violet," said John. "Tell me you're sure you don't want to spend the night at the inn. There's no question anymore that it's going to be dark before we reach Clearwater."

Rhen couldn't help but snuffle with mirth. _Ma won't be pleased to see me out so far past my bedtime._

_What an absurd thought._

"Yes, I would like to sleep in Clearwater tonight," she said. "We spent an entire week doing nothing but traveling in the dark, remember? Six months, even, if you're inclined."

"I am not," opined John, "and... whatever you say."

"We'll save forty pennies."

"You got me there."

With the lines secure, John tossed a purse containing the nominal docking fee in the direction of the assistant harbormaster, and the bedraggled duo marched their way toward the northern road.

The sun's glow vanished from the western horizon long before they reached the forest. The mountains separating the peninsula from the highlands completely eclipsed the sunset, and Rhen was fine with that. She was used to it. That's what home was like. That said, she'd already forgotten the dry chill which swept through her bones in the autumn dusk. She rolled down the sleeves of her unwashed shirt and buttoned them at the wrists.

The pair successfully evaded the sleeping purple ravwyrns just as they had in Land's End. The first enchanted tree, however, took them by surprise. Rhen felt her heart stop when the camouflaged trunk split into a maw lined with horrific fangs, but it only took her as long as whipping out her rapier to recall she'd recently survived a very similar battle on the open ocean. She twirled out a magical slash she'd been practicing on the sloop, and the tree was stumped within seconds.

"Impressively fast," whispered John. "You won't need me around after all."

Rhen bit her tongue. _What if you need me?_

It was apparent why the adults of Clearwater never let the kids stray far from town. The trees were dense and tangled, uncompromising, perfect hiding spots for the creatures of the woods. Clever John was quick to realize that each enchanted tree had a distinctive knot which opened up into a ghastly mouth, so they handily avoided those on their trek. That said, the woods were still eerie. In a moment of silence, Rhen could've sworn she heard the marching and hollering of military drills being performed by some troop of specters deep in the night. John said she needed to get some sleep.

It seemed she soon would. The trees grew sparser as they climbed. Rhen recognized the path to Green Rock Temple, a biannual place of worship for Clearwater folk, and knew exactly which path to take to get home. The caves were the safest way to go.

"Rhen," John hissed as they traversed the second cave. "I don't like caves."

"Why not?"

"Um... I think the ground is going to collapse."

"It's not; these have been here for--"

"I just do! Okay?" John held a hand out next to her, and Rhen could barely see that it was shaking. "Please tell me you know where you're going."

Rhen took his hand. "I know where we're going."

She hadn't the heart to tell him there was yet another cave before they reached town, but she held onto his hand all the way through. When they stepped down the shallow stairs where Rhen first met the slave trader, she unconsciously squeezed her fingers around John's. He squeezed back.

Rhen's stance slowly relaxed as they exited the last cave before Clearwater. There was the hideaway copse Peter liked. The sturdy cliff overhang where she and Danny sat on clear evenings. And there, there was the staircase into town, the mossy stonework flight with one loose brick in the third step which you were likely to trip over if it hadn't rained recently.

There was the chimney smoke. There was the scent of the town's supper leftovers. There was the maypole, dormant and bare.

There was the muffled sound of Peter's laugh.

Her hand slipped from John's. All thoughts of piracy or the ocean or the eastern continent or Land's End or sword singing or druids or slavery or loose bricks evaporated from Rhen's mind at once, and she scrambled up the stairs two at a time and dashed to Peter's front gate and hurtled over the fence and pounded on the door, her heart and stomach and lungs and voice all crammed together at the top of her throat, and she heard him say "I'll get it" and she bared her teeth against the tears but they were all coming out at once and there he was, _there was Peter._

"Rhen?" he breathed.

"P-p-p..." The sobs took over. She stood in front of him, trembling, all control lost.

He grabbed her in his arms and held her as if he feared she'd blow away. "Oh my gods, Rhen... oh my gods... oh my _gods."_

John leaned against the maypole and tried not to watch.

Peter was crying, now, too. "Where have you _been,_ Rhen? What _happened_ to you? Did you run away like Vanna said? I thought you were kidnapped! I thought maybe a ghost got you! I--"

"Peter," she finally choked out, and she bawled.

"Oh, gods, Rhen." Peter pressed his forehead against hers, his hand soft against the back of her head. Tears dripped from his chin. "I thought you were dead."

They stood there like that for a minute, Rhen remembering his smell, the way he breathed, his arms and his hands. She emptied her eyes onto his shoes. He held her.

"I already lost my sister like this. I was so scared I'd lost you, too."

Rhen sniffled. "I'll never run away from you, Peter."

He pawed at the back of her neck, then pulled away in surprise to look at her. "Your hair! It's. Your _hair,_ Rhen!"

She giggled through the wept-up snot in her throat. "Yeah, I cut it," she told him quietly.

He grinned, still teary. "How fashion-forward of you! Did you learn that in Sedona?" She shook her head. "Veldt, then?" She shook it again. "Did you go all the way to Thais?"

"No, I... I--oh, you have to meet John!" She pulled on Peter's hand, dragging him away from his front door. "He helped me get home."

Peter scanned John as they approached in the town square. "John," he murmured, the name strange on the tongue of a boy who'd rarely met people from outside the village. He stuck out his hand, the other clutching Rhen's. "It's John...?"

"Just John," said John, who met Peter with a firm handshake. "Ah, 'Captain.' Sometimes."

"Captain John. I'm Peter. Rhen's best friend since birth."

John glanced away for a heartbeat, then found Peter's eyes again. "Don't worry, I've taken impeccable care of her."

"He has," said Rhen, finally reinstating her composure. "I'm proud to have sailed with him."

"You sailed?" marveled Peter. "You have a lot to tell me."

"Yes, actually, I do!" Rhen was excited now; she truly had her own story to tell. "Where's Danny? I want to see him, too."

Peter stood back, his eyes slowly shaded by grief like candles dimming in the cold. "Danny... Danny is missing, too."

A hot chill wracked Rhen's body. "Was he also kidnapped?"

"No, he... um... went looking for you."

Rhen sank to her knees, hugging herself around her ribcage, suddenly weak. "Oh, _gods."_

Peter crouched next to her. "It's not your fault, Rhen. It was his decision. We don't know where he is now, but I'm pretty sure he started in Sedona."

"I have to find him, Peter. This is all my... I have to find him, I _have_ to."

John knelt by her other side and rested a hand against her back. "Easy, violet," he murmured. "You've been through a lot."

"I don't know what it is you've been through, but I agree with him," said Peter. "You should be resting and recovering now."

"I want to look for Danny," said Rhen, her voice rising.

"Vi, you're gonna work yourself to death. You have to stay here."

 _"No."_ Rhen glared at John. "I will not."

Peter and John looked at one another over Rhen's hunched shoulders.

Peter spoke first. "You know... you can't really--"

"Yeah, there's no point arguing with her," John finished.

"Damned right there's not," muttered Rhen.

"We absolutely planned on staying the night here before I leave," John amended. He looked at Rhen. "No matter what happens tomorrow, you're going to sleep in your bed tonight, right?"

Rhen shifted uncomfortably. "I'm too anxious to sleep."

"No, you're not," chided Peter. "Your head will hit that pillow and you'll be out like a lamp."

"Ugh... fine."

"Good." Peter squeezed her again as they sat together on the dusty ground. "Then I'll see you in the morning, and we can talk more about it, okay?"

"No." Rhen drew her knees to her chest and sat her chin between them. "Walk me home."

Peter smiled feebly but warmly. "Whatever you want."

Rhen stood first, and her companions followed. Peter gripped her hand and John's arm was firm around her back as they climbed the stone steps to the Darzons' house. Rhen felt as if all the tears and emotion had been drained from her body. Peter was right; she would crash as soon as she got home.

Walking through the front gate of her parents' house didn't feel real. It was a dream, an act, and it would melt away with the rising sun, and Rhen would find herself curled up on the bench of the Queen Sarah, far out at sea.

She hesitated at the door, unsure whether to knock or just go inside. Peter made the decision for her, and the door swung open.

"Tailor!" he called. "It's Peter. I've got a surprise for you."

Rhen felt slow, her reactions numbed. Pa sauntered into the room at Peter's voice. "Peter," he started to say, "what are you doing out this late?" but his voice was a step behind his head when he saw Rhen, and he ran and scooped her into his arms and held her like she was four and had just discovered how slippery the cliff's edge could be.

"Pa," she whispered.

"I knew you would find a way home," he whispered back.

"Is that Peter?" called Ma from the other room.

"Come here, love," Pa replied.

And then Ma was there, wrapping herself around the part of Rhen not currently enveloped in Pa. She wept as hard as Rhen wept only minutes ago, and Rhen regretted that she'd already cried all of her tears for Peter.

"What happened to you?" choked Ma.

"It's a long story," Rhen murmured. "My new friend John rescued me, though."

Rhen's parents turned to the stranger in their doorway. "You're John?" asked Pa. "You brought Rhen home?"

"Yes." John scuffed a foot against the rock.

"Then we owe you lifetimes of debt." Ma released Rhen and went to greet John. She held his arm as fondly as if he were a beloved nephew. "Please stay with us for as long as you would like. I can see that you're tired."

John shrugged sheepishly. "It's been a very long few weeks."

"But Rhen's been gone for _months,"_ responded Peter, unable to contain his curiosity. "What--?"

"Can I explain it tomorrow?" sighed Rhen.

"Of course," said Ma. Peter nodded in concession.

"We have some dinner left over, if you and John want to eat," said Pa, who finally drew away from Rhen to look at her. "Oh, Rhen, your hair..."

"Dinner sounds good," she agreed.

"I can draw a bath, if either of you would like," said Ma. Rhen stifled a tired laugh. Ma's hints were always less than subtle.

"I would _love_ a bath," said John. Ma led him into the house. "And if you have food to spare, I truly appreciate it."

Peter stood near Rhen and held her hands once more. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Do you want me to stay?"

She shook her head. "I love you, Peter, but you were right and I'm exhausted."

"I completely understand." He squeezed her hands. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then. Just come find me when you're up to it."

"I will."

Peter left, and Pa ushered Rhen to the dining room table as if she were visiting nobility. Ma made pheasant at least three times a week, especially when she was tired or unhappy, but for once in her life, Rhen was ecstatic to receive a plate of lukewarm pheasant and root mash. She and John ate like wolves in winter. Ma noted their ravenous behavior and brought out the reserve jar of harvest applesauce.

Rhen bathed before John did. She spent a long time soaking in the hot water, nearly nodding off once or twice. She'd only bathed twice in the several weeks she was gone; once forcibly, just before she was auctioned off to Rona, and the second time on the brigantine after meeting John. She took her time and enjoyed every cleansing minute.

When she was clean down to her pores, Rhen hunted through her old wardrobe. She only owned one pair of trousers, she discovered, and they were too small. Wearing a dress again felt odd, somehow. Picturing herself back in the colorful skirts and linen bustiers, she felt like a lie. She shut the wardrobe and found her shift nightgown. Ma took away her sailing clothes and salt-stained boots to wash.

She found Pa after she dressed. It was like a reflex to seek him out after washing her hair, waiting for him to sit with her and braid it back up. He, too, was waiting in the dining room. They both chuckled uneasily when they remembered she had little hair to braid. Still, he bade her to sit before him, and he found the longest part of her uneven hair, and his slim fingers set to work separating and weaving it into a thin plait.

"They made you cut your hair, sweetheart?" murmured Pa, a little heartbreak in his voice.

Rhen's nose stung.

"You don't have to tell me about it. You're safe here now. Okay?"

"Okay."

Pa cobbled together a passable nest for John in the living room, right next to the old wooden chest. At Ma's urging, he lent John a plain shirt and trousers to wear while she washed his clothing with Rhen's. John donned the borrowed clothes gratefully, laid down in his makeshift bed, and passed out within seconds. Rhen, too, wasn't awake for much longer than a "good night" and a kiss from each of her parents.

She dreamt of the ocean.

When she awoke early in the morning, John was still asleep. She tiptoed to the kitchen wearing the simplest clean dress she could dig up. She fixed herself a cold breakfast of spiced apples and Ma's overnight oats, and prepared a bowl for John, too. The laundry was hanging out to dry on the line in the backyard, swaying in the light breeze. She guessed Ma and Pa stayed up late to wash it.

"Urf," said John.

"Morning," said Rhen, intent on her oatmeal.

"Morning." John rose and stretched, then walked to the table and sat across from Rhen. "This for me?"

"Yes."

They ate together silently. It was odd, somehow, hearing the tranquil rush of trees and flighty birdsong instead of the constant hum of the ocean. Rhen grew up here. Why did it feel so... _foreign?_

Tension ballooned between Rhen and John while they washed their dishes. Rhen knew he intended to leave that day. She knew that, once he sailed away, she'd never see him again. Their real lives were too disparate. Neither spoke a word about his departure.

The disquiet receded when Ma joined them in the kitchen. She planted a kiss on Rhen's head and smiled at John.

"Good morning, you two."

"Morning, Ma."

"Good morning, missus Darzon."

"John, did you sleep all right?"

"Yes, thank you so much."

Ma put a hand on Rhen's shoulder. "Would you mind terribly if Tailor and I borrowed Rhen for a bit? We need to catch up."

Anxiety bubbled back up in Rhen's stomach. She'd thought about this conversation ever since she and John sailed away from the western docks. "Catching up" didn't just mean sharing uncomfortable information with her parents (how could she tell them she'd stolen a boat? slaughtered a demon? shot blistering magic from a sword into the flesh of a giant ocean monster?); it also meant a transition. She would return from her life as Rhen the unassailable, Skip Townsley, violet, pirate, sword singer, demon-slayer, chosen of Land's End, back to her life as Rhen Darzon, Clearwater girl. If she was honest with herself, this was neither a conversation she was ready to have nor a life she was ready to resume.

She let Ma lead her from the kitchen, leaving John to dry the dishes. Pa was sitting at the table already, still scruffy from sleep. Rhen's hands shook. How much could she keep from them? They loved her; they wanted her well. But... they were _them,_ simple agricultural folk with simple agricultural values. She loved them, which was why she couldn't tell them where she'd been. What she'd done.

She sat across from her parents and clasped her hands atop the table to keep herself from fidgeting.

"If you're ready... we would like to know what happened to you, darling." Pa's eyes were soft. She didn't want to see them harden.

"I'm ready," she said, and took a deep breath. "There isn't much to tell, to be honest."

"Just start from the beginning, and take your time," said Ma.

Pa couldn't restrain his thoughts. "We couldn't agree on what happened to you, or where to look. Peter seemed certain that you'd run away like Sophie did. Did you... is that true?"

Rhen shook her head, pushing down the pang of guilt she felt for dredging up Peter's pain. It wasn't Rhen's fault she was kidnapped, but she could only imagine how Peter must have  _fel_ _t,_ reliving the loss of his sister a full five years later. She hadn't even thought of Sophie until now. That, however, was a conflict to be resolved later.

"During the maypole festival, I left through the tunnels to chase sheep with Peter." She blushed reflexively at the confession. It seemed a silly transgression in light of how she'd spent the last few weeks, and its juvenility embarrassed her more than anything else. "A man was waiting in the tunnels, and he kidnapped me."

Ma began to shake, and she could tell that Pa was grinding his teeth behind his concerned frown. Even this far into her story, they could barely handle what happened.

"He sailed me to the eastern isle, and..." Rhen preferred not to think about the humiliation she suffered at the hands of the slave trader, whether her parents wanted to know or not. "I was sold as a slave to a woman in Ghalarah."

This was too much for Ma. She covered her face with her hands and whimpered. Pa put an arm around her shoulders.

"How long were you there?" he asked, clearly trying to conceal his own distress. "How did you escape?"

"Um... I can't say for sure how long I was there. Time sort of blurred together in that place."  _T_ _hat wasn't_ technically _a lie; calm down calm down calm down._  "Escaping, um, proved not to be too difficult. I hopped the fence in the middle of the night, and I waded through the swamp until I was far enough away that no one could track me."

Pa nodded. "You've always been a cunning lass."

The affection in his voice sliced Rhen's heart in two. She swallowed the quiver in her voice and gulped down her turmoil after it like a swig of water after Dyonna's cold medicine. "It wasn't easy," she said evenly. "I had to walk all the way to the western docks. That's where I met John."

Ma lifted her head and sniffled. "What a good man he is."

"He really is," murmured Rhen. "He was like a brother to me."

"You grew very close over a short time, then," said Pa.

 _Oh._ "Well... we ran into a few snags trying to sail west," Rhen added, trying to stretch what should have been a five-day voyage into an affair of weeks. "Customs issues, and... storms, and veering off course once or twice. But he always kept me very safe, even if the journey took longer than expected."

Pa nodded. "And here you are, home in one piece. We owe John and his crew a tremendous debt of gratitude."

 _Damn..._ "Well, ah, the crew dispersed when we reached the western continent. They were on a contract, so we probably won't see them again."

"A shame. But we would like to send John off with a gift as a token of our thanks."

"I put a purse of coins in his coat pocket, drying on the rack," said Ma. The aging lines in her face had never been clearer, drawing canyons below her eyes and around her cheeks. "It seems odd, I suppose, like paying off a man for returning our daughter, but I get the impression he's the type to understand."

"I think he'll appreciate it," affirmed Rhen.

"Thank you for telling us what happened to you, Rhen," said Pa.

"Yes. All those months spent in slavery must have been traumatic beyond belief."

 _Double-damn._ "Oh... yes. It was a lot to handle."

Pa stood, pushing his chair away from the table. "If there's anything you need while you're recovering, please don't hesitate to ask. We're always here to help you."

"I will, Pa."

Rhen's parents hugged her once more before returning to their bedroom to dress. John poked his head out from the kitchen.

"That was succinct."

"Really? I'd call it blatantly false." She stood and joined him by the oven.

"It's all a matter of perspective."

Rhen sighed and traced a finger between the cold bricks for a moment before stopping abruptly and folding her arms. "Let's go see Peter."

"Let's?" John sounded surprised.

"Yes. Let's."

Peter was at home eating a late breakfast. He let Rhen and John in to sit at the table with him.

Rhen told Peter everything. She told him about being a slave and about the Tenobors and the jungle. She told him about meeting John. She told him about being a pirate, and he said he was almost surprised at her, but not quite. She told him about crashing the boat, and about Land's End, and about the demon and the druid. She told him about their journey back north, stealing the ferry, fighting the ocean beast. She told him about the bracelet. She told him about the magic.

That's when Peter lost his words.

"You... you're joking."

"I'm not. I can show you, if you want."

"Uh, no, that sounds like a pretty bad idea, actually." Peter put down his spoon and rested his head in his hand. "But there's never been an ounce of magic in Clearwater."

"I know. It must have skipped a generation. Pa's from Thais, I... think, so maybe there's magic on his side of the family."

Peter blew the air from his lungs. "This is a lot to take in."

"I know. I couldn't believe it at first, either. I thought it was just the sword."

"Speaking of, you are hereby disqualified from all future engagements of the Peterhendanny Clearwater Varsity Swordplay Dueling Tournament."

"That's probably fair."

John chuckled under his breath. "The what?"

"So... Danny." Rhen took a deep breath. "You think he went to Sedona."

"He said he did. That's where I would look for him first."

"Right." Rhen slapped her hands on the table. "Will you come with me?"

Peter sputtered and spat out the tea he was drinking. "Excuse me?"

"I'm going to find him. I want you with me."

"You're serious? A good night of sleep didn't clear your liberally salted brain?"

"Apparently not."

"Gods..." Peter rubbed his forehead. "Rhen Darzon, you are going to be the death of me."

Rhen grinned. "So you're coming."

"You know me too well." Peter rolled his eyes. "When are we leaving?"

"Today. I don't want my parents to ask too many questions." Rhen was truthfully impatient to leave. Being in Clearwater didn't feel _right._ At the moment. Yet. She was sure she'd come home once everything was resolved and it would feel perfectly normal. But...

The story wasn't over.

"You're going to need to give me some time to pack up," replied Peter. "And, to be honest, I _would_ like to tell my parents that I'm leaving, or at least Liana."

"They'll just try to stop you," Rhen warned.

"Then I'll leave a note. But we _have_ to tell, or this village is going to enter a state of absolute panic! Plus, someone else might go looking for _us,_ and we'll just have more Dannies." Peter's voice was firm. Rhen could argue, but she decided she'd rather not, and he was probably right anyway.

"Fine. But write fast; we should leave before dinnertime."

"Agreed. Are we taking the merchant's pass?"

Rhen snorted. "Do _you_ have an access card?"

"So... how the hell do you suggest we get to Sedona?"

"We could sail," suggested John.

Rhen swiveled to look at him. "What?"

"I said, we could sail." John shrugged. "If you don't mind spending another... five-ish days on the water."

"We?" Rhen scooched her chair a few inches closer to John.

"Yeah." John cleared his throat. "We."

"Don't you have... pirating... things... to do?"

"Ah... let's just say I've hit a lull in my otherwise illustrious career."

"John," said Peter, earnest. "Thank you."

"Five days, is it?" Rhen smiled. "It's going to get a little tight on that smelly skiff."

"It's not a skiff, it's a sloop," John groused.

"Might as well be. Oh, well; we make sacrifices for our friends."

"I've only been to Sedona twice," said Peter, his excitement rising. "Can we do a cheese tasting?"

"Danny first," cautioned Rhen. "We have to stay focused."

 "So... meet at the usual spot after lunch?"

"And don't breathe a word to anyone else. Even Liana. Got it?"

"Aye aye, captain."

"Excuse me," interjected John. "I am actually the captain here."

Rhen snorted. "Since when?"

"Since we have a crew. Keep that sass off your tongue or I'll demote you from first mate."

"Demote me to what?"

"Second mate."

"Does that mean I'm second mate already?" asked Peter.

"Meeting adjourned. Peter, we'll see you after lunch." John stood up, and Rhen followed him to the door, waving goodbye to Peter.

When they were outside, Rhen punched John's arm gently. "I'm glad I'm not seeing you off just yet."

John chuckled. "You're a hard girl to get rid of, Rhen Darzon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Retroactive edit to add in references to an OC I initially scrapped but decided to revive. We'll see where it leads!


	13. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's done it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Johnologue.)
> 
> Mild language warning.

It took them only a couple of hours to reach the lowlands. Peter, ever the scamp, was just as stealthy as the pirates as they slunk through the woods. A couple of ravwyrns troubled them on the way out, but Rhen and John made quick work of those. Only after the first battle did it occur to Rhen that Peter was unarmed and relatively untrained. She hoped there was an arms merchant at the marina.

There wasn't. The sun dripped into the ocean as Rhen scanned the pier with disappointment.

"We'll have to get you something in Sedona," said John to Peter. "They'll have a great selection there; you can pick whatever type of weapon you'd like."

"Uh... gosh," replied Peter. "That actually sounds like a lot of pressure."

"Don't worry about it too much," said Rhen, patting him on the back.

"Right; the weapon is just in case of emergencies." John smiled. "If you get a rapier, though, we could really teach you how to use it."

They made for the docks, John flipping and catching a fifty-piece coin he picked from the harbormaster's pocket. Rhen, bursting with a frenetic energy she didn't bother to conceal, skipped and stepped to a rhythm in her head. Peter gave her a little extra space to prance. She knew she should be serious and focused. Danny's life was likely at stake, yet there she was, trotting around like an unbridled warhorse. She couldn't help it. Her energy was overflowing and she had nowhere to put it.

There was another boat docked next to the sloop, a ketch still bearing the smell of the deep ocean. John barely glanced at it before he was rattling off everything he knew about it on sight.

"That is a _beautiful_ ketch. Crisply maintained, as well. She's definitely been out to sea recently, but not often, and wow, it looks like we must have _just_ missed the crew docking her up; see the way the hull is soaked and not stained? Vi, do you see--"

"Yes, John." Rhen rolled her eyes. "She is a very pretty boat."

"Does he do this all the time?" Peter stifled a snicker in his speech.

"Only when he _really_ wants something."

"Well, come _on!"_ protested John, cavorting between the two boats. "I mean, look--look at the difference here! We've been on that ratty sloop for days, and now here comes along a certifiable _coquette_ of a ship practically _begging_ to be swept up in my capable arms--"

"Competent," interjected Rhen.

"You are a rude little snot. I'm not leaving these docks in that sloop."

"Do you fall for _every_ flirtatious Bermuda-rig with a big mainmast?"

"I'm a simple man, violet. I like provocative rudders."

Peter sat down on the dock, dangling his legs over the edge. "Whenever you two are ready to pick a ship and sail..."

"We're taking the sloop."

"We are _not_ taking the sloop!"

"I'm the mission leader!"

"I'm the _captain."_

Rhen raised a finger to point contrarily at him, but found no further words to spit. Her lips tightened.

"My ride, my rules." John stretched out and popped his back with a grunt. "We're taking the ketch someone so graciously left for us, all tied up with amateur knotwork like a Yuletide present."

Rhen leaned slightly to inspect the dock lines. They were, in fact, tied as if the responsible party had never before sailed a ship. This ketch would be... too easy to steal.

She sighed. "All right. How are we taking her?"

"From behind?"

_"Jonathan."_

"I mean, we _could_ just slash the lines and run, no frills." John's gaze swept over the sparsely-populated marina. "There isn't much security here."

"But there's the harbormaster and his assistant," Rhen pointed out.

"Trivialities."

Peter cleared his throat. "Won't we be wanted by the time we reach Sedona?"

"I'm already wanted on most of the isles. A haircut and a new jacket usually solves that problem for a while."

Rhen helped Peter to his feet. "Are you okay with this, Peter?"

He shrugged. "I know what I signed up for."

John smirked. "Good lad."

"But, ah, wait one second." Peter fished a notebook from his pack and scribbled something inside before tearing out one sheet of paper. He dug inside his pack again and produced an old but sharp letter opener, then pinned the paper to the piling near the bow of the ketch. Rhen squinted at it.

"SORRY WE STOLE YOUR BOAT.

<\--- TRY THAT ONE."

John was already busy hacking through the dock lines. "Vi! Get over here and show your friend how to cut a rope."

As predicted, it didn't take long to make off with the ketch. Rhen was a little concerned by the lack of security. "Imagine if we'd sailed a _nice_ boat into those docks," she said to John, who remained alert at the wheel once they'd established a steady northward course.

"Most of the ships that dock on the east coast are passenger vessels or freighters," John reminded her. "Neither type sticks around very long, nor are they ever empty of crew. Even the fishing boats here have eight-hour shifts around the clock."

Rhen perched on the binnacle. "You know a lot about the docks around here, don't you?"

"I've spent my whole career sailing between the isles. I know the best places to beach a ship, too."

"Done that often?"

"More than I'd like."

Rhen sighed and stared out to sea, swinging, her legs a bit. They weren't exactly hugging the mountainous coast, but they didn't go far out into the ocean, either. John plotted out their journey to consist of two straight legs before reaching the peninsula; he didn't want to invite trouble by weaving a complicated course. The weather was clear and sunny that evening, so Rhen could easily see the highland coast from the quarterdeck of the ketch. Something about the rocky contours made her restless, or at least augmented the extant restlessness she'd felt since morning. She didn't know how to sate it, so she pushed it away, making room in her head for John's banter instead.

"Your whole career, then. How long's that been?"

John made a thoughtful sound with his lips and looked up at the dimming sky. "Um... I'll be twenty-nine in a few months, so... sixteen years?"

Rhen nearly fell off the binnacle. "You've been sailing since you were _thirteen?"_

"Twelve, technically."

"I mean... _why?"_ she sputtered. "And _how?"_

"Why and how did you, dear violet, begin _your_ buccaneering vocation?"

A gust of wind brushed Rhen's chopped hair against her cheeks. "You don't have to tell me."

John sighed. "No, I don't, but I guess I don't see why not. Are you ready for it?"

"Shoot."

"Everything started for me at an early age. When I was five, my mother died. My _father,_ if that... _callous hedonist_ could be considered such a thing, sent me to a boarding school. Never visited, never took me home for the holidays. I was as good as orphaned."

Rhen stared attentively at John as he spoke, her brow slowly sinking. "I can't imagine what that did to you."

John flashed her a weak smile before continuing. "School was probably all right, but I wouldn't know it, considering how much time I spent trying to run away."

"Sounds like you." Rhen giggled despite herself.

"Yep! I think my first escape attempt was two months after I arrived."

"You were _five!"_

"I was precocious. I never fit there, really. I can barely say I was ever a student. I did love the history teacher, though. She was a little warmer than the rest. Hers were the only classes I ever attended, or at least the only ones in which I paid attention. And even though she knew I'd just steal them and lose them each time I ran away, she gave me all sorts of books. Mythology, history, a couple on magic." John sighed through his nose. "I don't know why. I never figured out what she saw in me."

Rhen hummed in sympathy. "I can see you. Young John sitting in the back of the classroom, staring at the window, gauging the thickness of the glass."

John nodded. "Every day."

"How much time did you spend there?"

"Not a lot. My first escape attempt went poorly because I was five, but I learned quickly. Once or twice I rallied some other students to escape with me, but most of my bunkmates seemed pretty happy there. I just... had a demon in me, I guess."

"You'd been through a lot."

"Yeah, that's true." John grimaced. "Anyway, my subsequent flights were more successful. I think the longest I managed to get away before getting caught was about a month, maybe five weeks. A librarian two towns over harbored me, actually. Saw the books I carried and fed me more. I was eight."

The sun was setting behind the mountains now, casting a glow over their peaks. Clearwater was in there, was atop one of those peaks, and Rhen couldn't stop a bilious guilt from rising to her chest as she looked for it. She, too, was a runaway now.

She was distracted by Peter, who'd been busy in the galley and now climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. "Dinner in half an hour," he reported. "Hope you like potatoes, captain."

"At ease, sailor," commanded John, feigning hauteur.

"Thanks, Peter," said Rhen. "John was just telling me a story; want to join us?"

Peter grinned and sat next to Rhen before the wheel. "If you don't mind."

"Ah, why not." John leaned an arm against the wheel and turned to face his crewmates a little more clearly. "To sum up, I was sent to boarding school and ran away several dozen times by the age of ten. I learned next to nothing, spent all my time scheming, hustling, stealing stuff, and discovering illicit substances, and decided I hated everybody around me. My eleventh birthday was the day I finally escaped."

"How?" Peter's eyes narrowed, crowned by a crease in his brow.

John smiled a little. "How I left the building isn't important. It was supposed to snow late the night before my birthday. I made a reliable connection with the local meteorologists--don't ask how--and I always knew exactly what time the weather was supposed to change, when it mattered. This time, I took everything I had, kept a wary eye on the sky, and broke out _just_ before the snow started."

"That's harebrained!" Rhen snickered.

"Yeah, but it worked! My tracks were untraceable under the fresh snow. I knew the guard hound was down with some sort of flu, but I stuffed my pockets and sleeves with rotting leaves and dead grass just in case they tried to follow my scent. And the big thing, which I did for the first time, and which I'm certain is the reason I succeeded: I didn't look back."

Rhen and Peter were transfixed, Peter grinning with his mouth ajar. "Cheesy."

John was grinning, too, a fond look of recollection on his face. "I didn't stop in any of the towns around the school, or any of the towns around _those_ towns. I headed straight for the docks. I figured there was no way I'd still be in their jurisdiction if I was on another continent. I pooled all the money I'd swiped on my way out and caught the ferry to Thais."

Rhen wrinkled her nose, confused. "You went to Thais? Why would you go there? If that was... almost eighteen years ago..." Realization slowly shaded her face. "You went there _before_ the destruction of Thais. John, please tell me you weren't--"

John shook his head. "I was."

Suddenly dizzy, Rhen leaned into Peter, who wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "What did you do in Thais?" he asked, diplomatically grasping for a new subject.

"Eh, I was your average street rat. Picking pockets, swiping bread, whatever I could. Every three days or so, I stole enough to afford a room at the inn. The innkeeper started leaving that room clear for me, actually." John closed his eye. "When I was much older, I realized that there were people in my life who might've cared about me. But I didn't get close to anyone. I was... spiteful."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "I can understand that."

"What, you? You're a good kid."

"Ha! That's what you think." Peter squeezed Rhen and she snickered into his shoulder.

John's smile betrayed fondness. "Wanna hear about how I left?"

"Yes, please," said Rhen.

"The... you-know-what happened when I was twelve," he began.

"Don't spare my feelings," interrupted Rhen. "I just got scared for you. That's all."

"Scared for me?" John left the wheel and walked over to squat in front of Rhen. "I'm right here, violet. You can see me. I'm fine."

She waved him off. "I know," she said. "It was silly."

"We're silly people," concluded Peter.

"Please tell us the rest," said Rhen.

John stood. "All right. So... Thais was razed when I was twelve. You must've just been born, then. There used to be docks on the mainland, but after the demons destroyed them to blockade the city... I don't know; they've just never been rebuilt. I managed to escape the city and dodge trouble til I reached the docks. The harbor town was in flames when I got there, but the pier itself was still intact. I picked a ship and hopped on. No one saw me in the midst of all the chaos, or maybe they just wouldn't have cared if they did. We were all on the same boat, so to speak."

Peter sniffed quietly.

"What, too dry?" John pulled a face. "Whatever. A day later, the captain of the ship corresponded with the captain of another ship in passing, and he learned that everything was gone. It was over. I couldn't go back to Thais."

"And you've been sailing ever since?" asked Peter.

"More or less. I'd happened to board a courier ship, the really fast kind which delivers royal missives and stuff of that nature. When I came out of hiding, I think the captain felt sorry for me. Thing was, everyone there had cause to feel sorry for everyone else there, and... I didn't mind it as much. I guess that was the first time I ever really opened up to anybody."

"You were twelve then?" asked Rhen.

"Yep. Turned thirteen shortly after."

"How long did you stay with the couriers?" asked Peter.

"About a year. We parted amicably, but something about behaving myself and being helpful to others just unsettled me."

Rhen burst into laughter. Peter snickered, too. "Then what?"

"Then... I found more crews to join," John said. The light was almost gone from the western horizon, and he squinted at the stars as he spoke. "Merchant crews, mostly, for a while. I couldn't stand the thought of staying in one place for too long because somewhere in the back of my head, I was convinced that I'd be caught, maybe by the orphanage or the guard or somebody else, and be locked away again."

"When did you become a pirate?" asked Rhen.

John rolled his eye. "It's not about 'becoming' a pirate, violet; you just end up that way on technicality. You sign on with a merchant crew that isn't really a merchant crew, and you move a few stolen goods, and you get into skirmishes with people who are decidedly on the side of the law of the land, and somewhere along the way you suddenly realize, oops, look at me."

"Okay, fine. When did you become a captain?"

"I actually charmed my way through the ranks of my first 'non-traditional' crew rather quickly," recalled John. "I had ideas and I made them known. They thought I was pretty crazy, but my recklessness usually paid off in our line of work, and the crew I was with the longest decided they really wanted to keep me around. Pirate crews are pretty fluid, you know; you'll be sailing with one captain and one crew on one ship, and suddenly a few months later you'll realize you're on a different ship with a different captain and a different crew, but you're still working the contract you first signed."

"So... answer the question," said Peter. "The potatoes are done."

John huffed. "I was seventeen the first time I captained a ship."

Rhen gasped. "You're kidding!"

"I'm not. It didn't go well. I was captain for a couple of months, and then... well, I wasn't captain of anything again for a while."

"Bravo," mocked Peter, his eyes twinkling.

"And since then there have been mutinies and maroonings, and terminated contracts, and stuff." John waved a hand dismissively. "That's my life, the whole story. Please stop interrogating me now."

Peter hopped off the binnacle and hastened down the stairs. "Aye aye, captain," he called on the way down. "Pray for unburnt supper!"

Rhen dropped back onto the deck and stood next to John at the wheel. "Thanks for telling me all that," she said, her voice level and serious.

"Come on, it's not a big deal. Don't get all morose about it." John laughed awkwardly.

She patted his back. "This ship can sail itself for a bit. Let's go eat some potatoes."

 

 

That night, Peter and Rhen sat awake on the main deck while John snored below. Peter couldn't sleep, and Rhen didn't want to leave him awake on his own. He got far too broody when he had no one to talk to. They lay flat on their backs beside one another, hands clasped together, staring at the silver-coin moon.

"You're thinking about John's story, aren't you," said Rhen. It was less a question and more a pronouncement.

"Yeah."

Rhen squeezed Peter's hand. "What are your thoughts?"

Peter sighed once, shallow, then again deep, then short through his nose. His eyes were closed, and his cheeks twitched the way they did when he clenched his jaw in thought. Rhen knew this part of Peter. She waited.

Eventually, he said, "I wonder how long she planned to do it."

Rhen nodded, silent and patient.

"It wasn't like it was difficult for her. Nightfall, backpack, window, through the trees, done. She wasn't locked away."

"It may have been difficult anyway," murmured Rhen.

"Then why did she do it?" Peter scoffed. "What got into her head?"

"She was a teenager. It could have been just about anything."

 _"We're_ teenagers, Rhen!" Peter dropped her hand and gripped his head. "We're sensible, reasonable teenagers! We wouldn't _do_ that!"

"We just did," Rhen pointed out.

They were both silent for a while after that.

"All three of us did, didn't we," Peter said finally.

"Yeah."

He hummed in assent. "I just don't know why Sophie did it. Maybe there were... things, when I was young, things I don't remember. Reasons."

"Maybe."

"Do you... um." Peter turned to rest on his side, facing Rhen. "Do you think... maybe we'll find her?"

Rhen leaned towards him. "While we're looking for Danny?"

"She might've gone to Sedona. She spoke about it a lot."

"I think..." Rhen bit her lip. She had been fond of Sophie, too; she'd admired the girl's attitude. Rhen knew what she wanted to say to Peter, and she knew what she _should_ say, and those were two very different things. "It's a large world," she compromised.

"Huh." Peter turned back to the sky. "That's no answer."

"You've been sounding like me lately."

Peter closed his eyes, found her hand again, squeezed it. "You've been my sister for years, you know."

Rhen smiled. "Yeah, I know."

They let it go for a few minutes, counting stars and battling thumbs, enjoying the easy company one had missed for four weeks, the other for seven months. Rhen knew that Peter was still deep in his thoughts, but peacefully so, fulfilled by their discussion. That would do for now.

"I think it changed you," Rhen added eventually. "You're the 'sensible, reasonable' sort of person you are today because of her, and because of what she did."

Peter chuckled. "You think I would have been a brat if she stayed?"

"You're still a brat, Peter."

 

 

It took five days to navigate around the northeastern edge of the western isle. The Sedonan Bay was quite beautiful; Rhen marveled that, her entire life, she'd lived not a day's walk away from such a resplendent coastline and she'd never seen it. The water was a gorgeous blue, the sweet chestnut a fleecy orange blanket spread over gently-sloped cliffs. They were headed for the harbor cove, a perfect half-circle of golden sand ringed by stunning rock formations. As the distant shore came into view, Rhen wondered at the landscape before her. It was... _enormous._ Suddenly, finding Danny seemed like a nearly insurmountable task.

John steered the ship to cruise itself into the cove and left the quarterdeck to stand with Rhen. "Gathered up all your things yet?" he asked.

"Yes; thanks for the reminder." On the third day of their voyage on the ketch, she realized she'd left her sash on the sloop when they first docked, and now it was five days behind them. That wasn't a mistake she wanted to make again.

"Hardly surprising, considering we've brought a walking day planner on board," kidded John.

Rhen giggled. That was true. Peter was known across Clearwater as the pragmatic one of the trio. Rhen, of course, was the sharp kid, and Danny the industrious. She made the schemes, Peter refined them, and Danny was the toolbox. Rhen exhaled deeply. She quite missed her toolbox.

Peter emerged from the forecastle with all three of their packs. "I took the liberty; I hope you don't mind, John."

John grabbed his pack from Peter with an even stare. "Everything's in there?"

"Yep."

"Even the--"

"Even that."

"Good man." John nodded firmly. "Thank you, Peter."

He moseyed back toward the quarterdeck, staring out at the ocean aft of the stern. Rhen walked with him.

"I've been waxing nostalgic the past few days," he said. "Want to hear another story?"

Peter sighed inaudibly, hoisted his pack onto one shoulder and Rhen's onto the other, and followed them. "Why not," he agreed.

Enthusiastic, Rhen leaned on the rail beside John. "Tell us about--"

"I'm going to tell you about the first friend I ever made," John declared, cutting Rhen off. "When I was fourteen, I ended up on a ten-week contract for the Eastern Imperial Navy. It wasn't my sort of job, but the pay was good and the room and board were better. Plus, it was a short gig, and I was never fond of long commitments. Now--on that job, I met a man so old he couldn't remember his own age."

Rhen tittered. "No way."

"Yep! He usually said he was around eighty. I haven't met or even seen many eighty-year-olds in my life, but he seemed spry for that age. He was so old that I couldn't take him too seriously as a threat to my wellbeing, so I subconsciously let my guard down around him, and he _loved_ me. Said I was the funniest bastard he'd ever met."

"Eighty years and he couldn't do better than you?" cracked Peter.

John flapped a hand at him. "You've known me six days; lean off. But yes, he quite liked me. He kept saying he had a son around my age. He said a lot of things, though, like 'the captain is plotting to murder the bosun' and 'dead albatross tastes exactly like live pigeon.' For some reason, he didn't mind that I never believed a word of it. I think he liked that someone around had the nerve to talk back to him. Everyone else avoided it either because he was so old or because he'd proven far too many times that he was handy with a sword."

"Did he teach you to fight?" asked Rhen. Peter turned, leaned his back against the rail, and squinted out over the bow.

"No, I taught myself years before that," said John. "But he was an excellent sparring partner. Anyway, before I knew it, ten weeks were up, and we were to part ways at the docks where I first met you. But then..." He sighed and looked to the sky. "I'll always remember what he said to me. 'John, your head and heart are worth more to me than your hands, and you've got damn strong hands.'"

"Aww."

"After that, we never left one another. It was unspoken, and it just sort of happened that one of us followed the other to conscription offices or taverns, or to the sorts who'd set up their chairs outside their ships with signs saying 'HIRING CREW FOUR MONTH GOOD RATES' with at least one word spelled wrong. I joined my first 'pirate crew' with him when I was sixteen. He stayed with me even after the first crew I captained abandoned me. Whatever one of us did, the other did, too. For five years."

Rhen laughed. "But he was so old!"

Peter leaned forward and furrowed his brow. "Hang on, I'll be right back." He left the quarterdeck, a briskness in his step.

"Keep telling the story," Rhen ordered.

"Right. After five years, the poor old coot decided to retire. He said, 'I can't ask you to alter the course of your life for me, but I would dearly like to have you by my side until the end.'" There was a catch in John's voice, but it was over as soon as it occurred. "So I holed up in a sunny spot in the Veniara Isles with him, and I didn't set foot off land for nearly a year, until he died."

Both John and Rhen were silent for a moment, watching the tall rocks pass behind them as they approached the shore. Rhen tilted her head to look at him. "That must have been a difficult year."

"It was both the best and the worst of my life," John murmured. He shook his head sharply. "So I got back onto the ocean when I was twenty-one, and everything felt a little odd after that, but there was a point to this story."

"What point?"

John turned to face Rhen. His face was serious, maybe even a little sad. "I need you to hear this, vi. I--"

"EXCUSE ME!" hollered Peter from the bow. He sprinted across the deck toward the stern. "IS THERE SUPPOSED TO BE A DOCK HERE?"

John snapped forward. "What?"

Peter took the steps to the quarterdeck two at a time. "I don't see a pier and the beach is getting awfully close and also there are a _lot_ of rocks in the water where _are_ we--"

Rhen stood on her toes and looked out over the bow. "Oh, no."

That was when they drifted into the first rock.

The ketch was disturbed with a loud "THUMP" and then a _scraaaape,_ and John's eye went wide. "The... wrong cove," he choked.

_"What?!"_

"Tell us what to _do!"_ shouted Peter, pointing frantically in the direction of where there were probably more rocks.

"Tack and move to the leeward side!" Rhen yelled, noting John's apparent paralysis. "Drop the anchor and maybe high tide will--"

"Can it, violet," John barked suddenly. "Belay! Abandon ship."

"Wh... seriously?!" spluttered Rhen.

"She's doomed. Don't argue, just hop to!"

"There are too many rocks ahead of us to--AAH!" Peter fell forward into John's arms as the ship ran afoul of a larger rock. The muffled crunching of broken wood filled their ears, and all three stumbled to catch balance as the boat listed on the port side.

"No emergency ladder on this minx," yelled John, barely steadying himself on the guard rail. "We'll have to jump from here!"

Rhen wailed wordlessly. The last time she'd been in this position, she all but concussed herself and then nearly drowned. She kept her eyes on John. If she could see him, and he was still awake, that was good. Good. _Good,_ she told herself over and over in her mind, and really at this point they weren't that far from the water's surface what with the ship tipping over and all but her teeth were chattering and her vision blurred at the edges, _oh gods not this again--_

Peter grabbed her with his free arm as the ship below them was slowly consumed by the reef. "We have to go," he told her. "It's just like jumping from Dyonna's roof. You can do this."

Rhen nodded, bent her knees, closed her eyes.

"Don't close your eyes!"

Her eyes flipped open.

"I'll jump with you."

"GO, you addled swabs!"

Rhen jumped.

She cut the water like a knife, panicking for the briefest moment as she was submerged, her heart screaming in protest while the stormcloud in her mind crackled and droned. Then, Peter dove in beside her, and Rhen became light as a leaf, and they rose and bobbed together at the surface. John cannonballed from the deck just as the groaning ship tilted fully onto its side.

The sandy floor wasn't far beneath them; they had truly doomed the ketch to wreck in the shallows. Rhen spat seawater from her mouth and glared at John.

"Are you both all right?" he asked, ignoring her glower.

"Copacetic," grumbled Peter.

"Fine," snapped Rhen.

"Good," said John. "We should--"

"What is it you were saying, then?" Rhen interrupted.

John looked startled. "I, ah... what?"

"About the old man. Something you wanted me to hear."

"Is... is now really the time?" John coughed and shook water from his hair.

"Yes."

"I... just... I wanted you to know that... I'm with you, Rhen. Okay? Until whatever it is you need to do is done." He frowned, closed his eye, and took a deep breath. "I'm not going to leave your side."

Heat surged to Rhen's face. She didn't know what to do, treading water there in the shallows of the cove next door to the one they wanted, and all she _could_ do was look at him. This was as sincere as she'd ever seen him. She knew now, without question, that she _couldn't_ fail in her quest to save Danny; not with John in her corner, no matter how many ships he wrecked.

"Thanks," she whispered, barely audible over the lapping waves.

"Gods bless you both, but I'm headed for shore," remarked Peter. He swam away.

Rhen made to follow him, but John spoke first. "That's it? No 'I could do much better,' or 'cocky thing to say after crashing a ship in the wrong cove,' or--"

"'You've got a bloody large nose to be sticking into my business,'" she mimicked, finding her groove. "Or how about 'between your depth perception and my tunnel vision, we make a fully-functional battering ram'?"

John grinned. "Now you're getting it."

As they swam to the peninsula shore where Peter stood waving for them, Rhen promised herself she'd never let these buffoons leave her alone.


	14. Galahad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gala-mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for something similar to police brutality.

They lost Peter about ten minutes after they reached Sedona. He followed the scent of pungent limburger and strayed far from the path, leaving Rhen and John to explore the city.

"I fear we may never see him again," sighed Rhen dramatically.

"Perhaps not, but we'll surely smell him." John wrinkled his nose.

John was familiar with Sedona, although he preferred that Sedona not be familiar with John. His hair was slicked back quite skillfully with a bit of product he snatched from some merchant captain with a pompadour once they finally reached the peninsula docks (on foot). He decided first order of business would be to acquire new clothes, second to drop by the salon for haircuts. Rhen wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of a pixie cut now that her hair was already shorter than normal. Peter didn't care for the sound of a close shave.

He was probably fine as he was, they decided. He wasn't the one with distinctive lavender hair.

"So," said Rhen, stuffing her hands into her trouser pockets, "how are we paying for our new wardrobes?"

John tilted his head. "Well... we could always change in the back and wear what we want underneath our old clothes when we leave--"

 _"John._ Please."

"You're right; that only worked the one time. Next obvious answer is... steal the money, I suppose."

Rhen pulled her hands from her pockets, each one grasping a different coin purse. She grinned.

John's eye widened. "You're kidding me."

"Pickpocketing is a Clearwater youth tradition. Although it usually involves putting frogs _into_ pockets rather than taking things out of them." She tossed him a purse.

"Your mother will be far from pleased with me when she learns what a scoundrel I've created." John peeked inside the purse. "Oh, you nabbed a good one."

"I'm sure she's already displeased you've whisked me away on a dangerous quest."

"I'd say that was entirely your idea, but you and I both know that already."

"Oh, look; there's a clothier to the left." Rhen pointed. "See the blue shirt? I like it."

They made for the storefront, and John agreed that the shirt hung in the window was very nice. Each equipped with a respectable budget, they plucked new outfits from the shop displays. These clothes were premade, so there was no need for fitting, but they had fun trying pieces on together. Rhen, who knew all of Peter's measurements, selected an outfit she knew he'd like.

After shelling out most of the stolen money for their new clothes and changing outfits in the back rooms, the pair left for the barber across the street. It was a busy Thursday afternoon in Sedona, the streets bustling with commonfolk buying groceries for dinner and servants busily preparing for their masters' weekend soirées. Rhen marveled at the shops around her--a dressmaker, far more elegant than the one in Ghalarah; an art dealer; a pawn shop... nothing like the tiny family stores of Clearwater. The people milling about, too, were fascinating. Rhen's eye was caught by one figure entirely cloaked in the most beautiful purple silk she'd ever seen. Sophie's favorite color, she suddenly recalled, and she wished Peter were beside her. John strolled into the barbershop and began chatting up the hairdresser, but Rhen hung behind, staring up the street. Her eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the sheer abundance, and then... she squinted. _Was that...?_

Without telling her feet to move, she pressed toward the next cross-street, eyes fixed on the mop of black hair attached to a body which just wouldn't _turn around_ so she could see his face. Those weren't Danny's clothes, but... that could be _him_ bartering with one of the city's countless cheese vendors, haggling over the price of Camembert as if he had no faraway home to which he should hurry back...

Before she knew it, she was behind him. She tapped on his shoulder. "Excu--"

He turned. It wasn't Danny.

Rhen dropped her hand. "I'm sorry, sir; I..."

The stranger, a man who looked twice her age, furrowed his brow in concern. "Is everything all right, miss?"

She bit her lips before she spoke. "Yes, I just... mistook you for someone else."

"Please accept my apology," said the man, a sympathetic smile creasing his face. "I hope you find who you're looking for."

"Me too," whispered Rhen as he turned back to the fromager.

Suddenly self-conscious, she looked around as she moseyed back to the barber. No one looked like Danny, and yet, everyone looked like Danny. There was his haircut from two years ago, there was a sweater in the same color as his, there was a rhythm in that woman's step which was identical to Danny's. He was everywhere.

The door to the barber was propped open in the good weather. Rhen hesitated before going inside. She didn't have much time to worry as John, still waiting for the hairdresser to be free, slapped his arm against the doorframe, posed cheesily, and waved her in.

"Vi, you're not gonna believe this! They've started posting bounties inside the barbershop!"

Alarmed, Rhen dashed into the building and looked at the bulletin on the near wall. _Oh, gods, that's... a_ terrible _drawing of--_

"Can I help you?" asked the hairdresser, who was cleaning up from her last customer. Rhen whipped her head around.

"Ah, no, just--" Rhen started pushing John through the door, praying the hairdresser either got a really good look at his face or no look at all "--uh, looking around for a friend; thank you!" They were almost out of the shop, almost back on the street--

"Hey!" shouted the man who'd just paid for his cut, pointing at John. "Hang on! That's the man on the poster!"

Rhen froze. The hairdresser's eyes, widening, zipped between sketch and man. She opened her mouth to yell. John yanked Rhen through the doorway and ran.

The guards, at least four of them, were after the pirates within seconds, their armored boots crashing against the cobblestone road like a thunderous tide. John led them back toward the city gates, his nose rooting around in the air, before twisting down an alley. Rhen yelped as he dragged her along.

"What are you doing?!" she gasped between heaving breaths.

"Finding Peter," he called back.

They jerked to a halt on the edge of a massive courtyard full of merchants and patrons. Most of the Sedonans looked up at the sound of the disturbance, and Rhen saw Peter near the back, dropping a rindy cube of cheese in surprise.

"PETER!" she hollered, holding out her hand.

He looked to his left, then his right, then ran to join them, snatching up Rhen's hand. They resumed their flight toward the gates, the guards hot on their heels. Dodging through alleys and hurtling over trash bins, John put his head down and sped toward the entrance like a charging ram, looking for all the world as if he'd plow straight through the tall, wooden walls.

Rhen locked eyes on the forest and started sprinting for freedom, but she was jolted back as a gauntlet grabbed her by the hem of her brand-new indigo shirt and dragged her away from John. She heard Peter yelp beside her and saw his hands pinned behind him by a stern city guard in half-plate. John turned back, hesitated just too long, and was slammed to the ground by a third guard, resplendent in full plate armor. As his hands were bound, so were Rhen's. She bared her teeth and glared behind her. The expression of the guard at her back was hidden beneath a steel helmet. Slippery Peter wrenched around to bite the arm holding him in place, and a fourth guard stuffed a gag into his mouth and tied it tight.

John hung his head, allowed the knight brandishing a sword against his spine to lead him further into the city. Watching him, Rhen stopped struggling.

"John," she cried, but he didn't respond. They marched on toward the castle.

The neckline of Rhen's new shirt began to slip down one shoulder as they walked. She was certain she looked a disreputable mess, sweaty hair mussed about her smudged face. There was no denying that she was a lowly pirate, a rogue, a scoundrel. She could see it in the faces of the Sedonan townspeople as the trio, trussed up like Yuletide chickens, were paraded down the main street.

The castle walls rose up around them like a grand stone forest. Rhen noticed Peter eyeing the drawbridge, sizing it up as if devising some sort of desperate escape plan. She caught his eye and, ever so slightly, shook her head. The blade at her back pressed in further, so she hunched her shoulders and walked on.

Plush red carpeting with intricate designs padded the way through the castle entrance to the throne. Empty, decorative suits of armor lined the walkway alongside real, armored guards, a detail which Rhen found unnecessary and a bit bewildering. Everything in this palace shrieked of excess, from the imported Veldti trees to the golden-threaded tapestries.

John was led along before Rhen and Peter. She could just barely catch a glimpse of his face, and the unmitigated anger and defeat she saw there, the face of a caged tiger, shot an arrow of dismay through her chest.

He was dumped unceremoniously before the king's feet, forced to kneel and bow his head. The knight behind him sheathed his sword and rammed his heel into John's lower back. John flinched further downward but didn't cry out. Rhen couldn't tell just how hard the sabaton pressed in.

Rhen and Peter were shoved to their knees, and the gauntlet behind her pushed Rhen's head roughly downward. In her wildest dreams, Rhen never imagined this would be the way she'd first bow before her king. Remorse curled around her stomach and squeezed a little too tight before she managed to shoo it away.

She raised her eyes to look at him. His auburn hair and full beard were the first things she noticed. She didn't know just how old he was, but that hair gave his face a youthful gleam, even around serious, hooded eyes.

An armored man stood next to him. A knight, Rhen thought, like the one who apprehended John, except... well, for one thing, he wasn't wearing a helmet. He sported a soft banner of wheat-blond hair, combed away from his stern face and tied into a loose ponytail. His eyes were a very light, icy blue, so light his irises nearly faded into the whites behind them. The same shade of blue lined his steel plate armor, hinting at a high station. His grey cape, as well, indicated that he might not be the king's average knight.

His snowy eyes met hers, and they _widened,_ and he turned very slightly to look at her, and then-- _shunk._

The king froze. The knight froze. The guards spun to face the door, and the one gripping Rhen loosened his grasp, and she stretched her neck around and saw a certain recognizable purple silk cloak _swoosh_ ing away down the drawbridge.

Very slowly, the blond knight reached up above the king's head and plucked a needle-sharp dart from the velvet cushioning. A clear liquid dripped from the point to the tiled floor. The king drew back his foot, his nostrils flaring.

"Someone just tried to assassinate the king," shouted the blond knight. The guards who hadn't yet chased after the hooded figure snapped to attention at his bark. "Get him!"

All of the guards, except for the two holding Rhen and Peter and the knight stepping on John, rushed out through the door in a panic, pushing past one another in their haste. The blond knight shut his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead. Then, he looked at John.

"Would you happen to have anything to do with this... _'Pirate John'?"_

"So, you know my name this time," John spat, a defiant tone in his voice that Rhen recognized as especially fake. Her heart broke as she realized he'd given up.

The knight sniffed. "You've been an outlaw at large far too long, _marauder._ The guards at your backs will celebrate and feast well tonight."

"I hope you're not implying they'll eat us."

"SILENCE!" The knight snarled as he grabbed John by the back of the neck. "You have--"

"Enough, Galahad," said the king in a soft voice. "There are more important matters to contend with now."

Galahad dipped his head. "My apologies, your majesty."

"Did you get a good look at the assassin?"

"Hmm." Galahad pressed his lips together. "He's one of the thieves, your majesty. I recognized that cloak."

Rhen gulped. She could hear the ragged breathing that always meant Peter had just been crying. John tried to shift under the knight's foot, but was only pressed harder into the floor.

"Thieves." The king's face soured, and his voice rose. "Sir Galahad raises an excellent question. Might you have anything to do with these thieves, _'Pirate John'?"_

Galahad released John's neck with enough force to push him down. John tried to speak, coughed harshly, then tried again. "I haven't had... interactions... with the peninsula thieves... in half a decade. Your majesty."

"They could trust us, though," Rhen blurted.

All eyes turned to her. She didn't even realize the thought was leaving through her mouth until it was already out. Her face flushed.

Galahad stepped down the stone stairs to stand before her. He looked down at her, but the look on his face was one of pity, of concern. She wasn't sure she preferred that to derision. Before he could open his mouth to speak, a guard rushed up the drawbridge and called to the king, "We've lost him, sire!"

"Search the sewers!" ordered the king. "Dismissed."

The guard saluted and ran away again, and Galahad returned his attention to Rhen.

"How come you to throw in your lot with this callous criminal, young maiden?" he asked, gesturing at John.

She wanted to spit on his boot, but some gentleness in his tone gave her pause. Instead, she snapped, "He's my friend, and a noble man. He's saved my life more than once."

"And she mine," John murmured, a catch in his voice.

"Know you not the meaning of _silence?"_ Galahad growled at him, barely turning his head. He addressed Rhen again. "It seems clear to me that you have been impressed into a life of piracy. You are no longer under duress, and none shall compel you to continue down this destructive path. Let her up."

Rhen heard the guard at her back sheathe his blade and step away. She rose to her feet clumsily, hands still bound, and stared Galahad in the eye. He stood perhaps a foot and a half taller than her. She thought his severe face aged him about a decade older than John.

"And, this other one..." he said, gesturing at Peter.

"My friend from home," Rhen said.

"Let him up as well."

Peter stood, and the guard removed the gag from his mouth. He, unlike Rhen, immediately took the opportunity to spit on Galahad's boot. They exchanged glares for a long moment.

Finally, John spoke. "And you'll be letting me up as well, then?"

"Did your father neglect to teach you how to _hold your tongue?"_

Rhen could think of half a dozen retorts John might've used, but he did not respond.

Galahad returned his attention to Rhen. "What is your name, child?"

She sighed. "Rhen Darzon."

"Do you wish to return home? I would personally escort--"

 _"No!"_ cut in Rhen, growing frustrated. "My friend is missing, and I'm trying to find him! Peter and John are _both_ helping me! No one here is under duress, and I will _not_ be treated like a damsel!"

She heard Peter titter in the background.

The king sighed through his nose. "I cannot in good conscience release this pirate, who has been wanted by the kingdom of Sedona for a number of years. That said, should he agree to serve the crown in our state of sudden emergency, I may be willing to... strike a deal."

"Fine, anything," grumbled John. "Whatever you say."

Galahad ground his teeth so hard Rhen could hear it. He was clearly desperate to object, but very deeply unable to contradict his king. He shot John a scorching glance. "Let him up."

"What sort of deal?" asked Rhen, keeping an eye on John as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

"He knows where the thieves' hideout is," said the king.

"Was that a question? Yes, I do."

"He will lead Sir Galahad there, who will find and apprehend the assassin."

"Or," said Rhen, a little desperate to avoid traveling with this man, "the three of us outlaws could win the trust of the thieves and discover who _paid_ the assassin for this job."

The king hummed in approval. "This may be the most productive option."

"As you wish, your majesty," said Galahad, bowing his head. "I shall chaperone them, and they shall complete their task to the standards of the crown."

Rhen swore in her head.

John sighed. "Fine."

"This is not a request, pirate. Unless you wish to stand trial for three dozen crimes with five dozen witnesses."

 _"That_ many?"

"We're happy to do it," said Rhen. "Thank you for this second chance, your majesty."

"You're coming back here when you're done," warned the king. "This 'Pirate John' remains a probationary servant of the crown. We shall determine his fate when he returns."

"A 'servant'?" muttered John, grimacing.

"Untie their bonds," ordered Galahad, and Rhen's hands were freed. She rubbed her wrists absently, then pushed her sleeves back up her shoulders.

To her right, Peter sighed heavily. "This has been an altogether humiliating affair."

Rhen snorted. "What?"

"You know that young fromager I was chatting up earlier? The one with the  _divine_ limburger? Well--I think he took a shine to me, actually." Peter's cheeks were just a little red.

Rhen rolled her eyes.

"Of all the--"

"Are you two teenage numbskulls quite done gossiping, or should we order you a spot of tea and biscuits?" John's arms were folded.

Rhen grinned, surprising herself. She was glad to hear the edge creeping back into John's voice. "Some dinner would be nice before we leave, actually."

"You intend to travel by night?" asked Galahad, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"Yep!" piped John. "That's when we do our best work."

Galahad shut his eyes and mouthed an unintelligible prayer to the Goddess. 

 

 

Peter insisted they return to the northern courtyard for dinner. Once they arrived, Rhen didn't see him for at least half an hour. She had plenty of time to enjoy a hot cheese sandwich while John picked apart a cheese tart, and they both tried their best to ignore Galahad biting directly into a raw block of cheddar the size of his fist, gauntlet included.

"Enjoy your dinner?" Rhen asked Peter casually when he finally resurfaced.

He turned beet-red and didn't respond.

It wasn't yet dark by the time they left Sedona. The guards tensed upon seeing John walk past, evidently familiar with his face since the incident that afternoon, and Galahad waved them down. John strode ahead confidently, leading the way into the forest away from the main road.

"We must be cautious," warned Galahad. "The orcs who roam these woods have declared an eternal war against humankind."

 _"We_ can outsmart them if we're stealthy," said John, and the cock of his eyebrow indicated that Galahad was not included among the "we" of whom he spoke.

Galahad was, as Rhen learned over supper, clad in the unique armor of a paladin, and like most paladins, he swore an oath against subterfuge (as well as mind-altering substances, relations outside of wedlock, gambling, and necromancy; after that, Rhen stopped paying attention to his list). It was unlikely that their questing party, small though it was, could sneak past anything with functional ears. Luckily, the orcs themselves were not stealthy in their approach, and when the first scouts charged the human travelers, they were met with a solid defense. Peter, armed with a knife he'd picked up during their brief stop at the docks, sprinted into their charge _(oh gods Peter please be careful please please)_ _,_  ducked under the first wide swing, and slashed the hamstrings of the orc in front of him. A gravelly wail rang through the forest, and more orcs barreled forth from the trees.

"Stand back, my lady," shouted Galahad before Rhen even had a chance to draw her rapier. She narrowed her eyes and drew it anyway.

"Do the one from the boat!" shouted John over the din.

Rhen knew exactly what he was talking about. She closed her eyes, whistled an upbeat shanty melody, and tossed herself left and right, raising her legs and slapping her boots with her free hand, rapier carving the air. Baffled, Galahad lowered his guard and nearly lost his ponytail to an orcish axe. Then, the sword-magic descended upon the raucous orc soldiers, and they stopped in place.

First, an orc slammed the butt of his axe into the back of another orc's head. Then another orc cleanly beheaded his neighbor.

Then, mayhem.

The orcs frenzied, each taste of the blood of their brethren increasing their ferocity. Peter slipped away from the fray, and John motioned silently for his companions to duck away with him as more orcs ran in from the trees and joined in the confusion. Galahad, still locked in combat with an orc, kicked his opponent away and ran after Rhen. Dizzied, that orc turned around and slashed at the first adversary he saw.

Rhen sprinted up near John, with whom she exchanged a running high-five. Galahad jogged behind her.

"What in Aia was that?" he panted, his armor clanking with every step. "What... whatever happened back there?"

"Just a little sword magic," puffed Rhen, grinning.

 _"Magic?_ Surely you jest, my lady!"

"Stop calling me that. It was magic."

Galahad laughed as best he could through heavy breaths. "You _do_ know there is no such thing as magic?"

Now Rhen tried to laugh. "You can't be serious! Just earlier, you told me you swore an oath against _necromancy!"_

"As... as a formality!" Galahad's face was a blotchy stew of red. "Part of... tribute to the Goddess!"

John slowed their pace, and Rhen dropped to a brisk trot. "So there's a Goddess, but no magic," she said.

"Of course."

"And... the other gods? And their priests and druids? What do you think _they_ do?"

"Druids are conduits of the gods' will," Galahad huffed. "That is _not magic._ You are a woefully undereducated child."

Rhen rolled her eyes. "Maybe it was my _will_ to save your life, through the conduit of... my sword."

"Save my--? Ha! Dear girl, _I,_ as acting captain of the guard and a triple-initiated paladin, am more than well-equipped to handle _any_ situation of unfavorable numbers, especially when opposed only by measly Peninsula orcs!"

"Well, now you're even better equipped," said Peter, and Galahad jumped because he hadn't noticed the boy slide up beside him.

Most of the orcs abandoned their posts to investigate the skirmish in the northwest, so John and his company were free to traverse the peninsula unchallenged. John knew exactly where he was going, so they scaled the southern cliffs quickly before finally ducking into a hidden cave entrance. Rhen grabbed John's hand and squeezed it as he stepped down into the darkness.

"Be silent," warned Galahad in a whisper which echoed sharply through the rocky ceiling. "Cave trolls."

He didn't need to say it twice. Not one of them said a word as John guided them through the cave system. The ceiling was high and regularly broken; some dim light filtered in here and there. Rhen took Peter's dagger and hummed a brief note against the blade, and it lit up brighter than a torch. Galahad pretended not to notice.

John carried the dagger-torch through smaller caves within the cave, knowing each turn and bend but occasionally having trouble seeing where they were. Once, Rhen fell behind, and John stopped walking altogether until she was next to him again.

The tunnels grew lighter ahead of them, and Rhen heard faint, echoing music, as if someone was playing the flute in a massive room. John forged ahead.

"I don't think the thieves' leader is the same person as when I knew them," he murmured. "I'm not sure what we'll have to contend with."

Galahad rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Rhen tossed back her hair and thrust her chin into the air, and Peter cracked his neck.

"We're ready when you are," Rhen whispered back.

John's padded boots didn't echo when he stepped into the hideout, but Galahad's sabatons did, and Rhen heard the sound climb the walls and reach so far up she didn't know where it ended. Sconces lined the winding platforms, and the light was reflected dimly in thousands of glittering crystals embedded in the rock; high on the ceiling, they became sparkling stars in a black, cavernous sky.

Rhen wasn't normally a judgmental sort, but she didn't approve of the thieves' collective fashion statement. Sure, they could wear cowls and cloaks when they needed to conceal their identities, but why wear them in the private company of their own colleagues? She allowed herself one scornful shrug before scanning the sparse crowd for that familiar purple. _Ah, there._

She tugged John's shirt and pointed. He handed the torch-dagger back to Peter and made purposefully for the figure in purple. Before he got far, he was stopped by another figure, cloaked in common brown. Their face was entirely hidden by their hood.

"Hold, strangers. What aim have you in the headquarters?"

Galahad stepped forward threateningly. "We seek the dirty thief who tried to kill the king," he snarled.

"Ignore him, please," said Rhen hastily. "We're only here for information."

The thief chuckled. "As well you best be. You're looking for Juniper. You can find her down there."

They gestured to the figure in purple, who paced on the lowest platform, eerily illuminated by three sconces. _Juniper?_ Rhen looked back to the thief who'd directed them. "Um, thank you."

"And you _are_ here for... _only..._ information."

Rhen could swear that, over the thief's shoulder, there were suddenly twice as many, no, _three_ times more thieves than before, their veiled faces all turned to stare at her. She nodded and shivered. The thief before them stepped aside to allow their passage. They stepped down the stone stairs, and Rhen motioned for Galahad to keep his hand away from his sword.

"Juniper..." murmured Peter. "Rhen... do you remember...?"

"Hush," she whispered. Her whole chest was shaking inside.

The walk to the low platform felt far longer than comfortable. John squeezed Rhen's hand as he passed her; a signal, an _"I'll do the talking; don't worry."_ That was fine with her.

Juniper turned as they approached, her face also shrouded, and crossed her arms. She wasn't tall. Rhen wondered how old she was. John strode to her with confidence, stopped a couple feet away.

"Are you Juniper?" he asked.

"That I am," she answered. _Oh... she's young._

John dipped his head respectfully. "My name is Pirate John. You may have heard of me."

She was silent.

"Right... we were present for the assassination attempt against the king earlier today," John continued. "We're here to find out why."

Rhen heard Galahad growling under his breath. She was grateful, at least, that this raging bull had enough sense to know that an attack in the thieves' hideout surely meant untimely deaths for them, and most likely an unwinnable war for Sedona. She flashed him a sympathetic smile for his trouble.

"Hm. I have your information, but why should I give it to you?" The thief lord's voice grew louder, cockier. It was a tone Rhen knew well. Very well, in fact, she realized, recognizing it as a tone she herself had been using for years.

Peter grabbed her arm, suddenly urgent. "Rhen," he whispered.

Galahad lost a battle with restraint. "If you don't, we'll--"

"We're going to pay you double," Rhen announced, shaking off Peter. "We have the king behind us, after all."

"Rhen!" yelped Peter, pushing forward to grab for her shoulder.

Juniper snapped to attention, her cowl gaping directly at Peter. He stared, frozen, as she threw back her hood.

The brown-haired girl could only have been a few years older than Rhen, and it very slowly dawned on Rhen what the girl's wide eyes, her freckled forehead, her full cheeks and round eyebrows really _meant._ Rhen's breath stopped in her throat. She _did_ know this girl.

"Peter," whispered Juniper, her eyes glistening.

The color left his face.

"Sophie."


	15. Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is fine.

Eight days.

Well. Three on the boat. Eight on the land. Eleven days, in total. Those days on the boat might've counted, even in the diplomatic sort of haze which often accompanies tenuous first meetings. Lars didn't count them _much;_ he didn't face the _full_ brunt of condescension as all four occupants of the ketch were preoccupied with the burgeoning hunger of one immediate vampire. They spent the first night on land in a creaky inn nestled in a hamlet somewhere in the lowlands. Lars had his suspicions as to why the aforementioned vampire appeared sedate the following morning.

That's when the eight days began.

First, it was "Lars, if you're _serious_ about learning magic, you shouldn't be using a _mundane_ washbasin when you could practice your conjuration." Then, it was "Lars, this map is obviously outdated, which you'd _see_ if you'd just look at the nomenclature of the freshwater bodies." Then, it was "Lars, we're going to lose upwards of an entire _day_ if we make that stop." Then, it was "Lars, we _need_ to rescue this druid before we can even _think_ about leaving to pursue Princess Rhen."

So that's what they did, because one didn't _refuse_ to bow to the _superior_ wisdom of the Sun Druid. Lars conjured daily, warm rain-showers and smelled better than he ever had before, in his opinion, but only because he chose to. And Lars (eventually) agreed to follow the _flawless map_ that his companion, evidently also the druid of _cartography,_ just _happened_ to have etched into his mind. And Lars didn't just skip their overnight stop, he pushed them to march until they reached Clearwater, bringing the day's total to eighteen consecutive hours of travel. And when Lars discovered that Rhen had flown the coop yet again, towing the man in the red coat and the mythical Peter, he dragged his hands down his bloodshot eyes and suggested to the druid his assertive voice might carry better at the bottom of the nearest cliff.

It took eight days for Lars to decide he utterly and unreservedly loathed Dameon Maurva.

That was day three.

It was certainly a long three days. Elini and Dameon got along fine, but no love was lost between the sun priest and their creature of the night. While Dameon tolerated Lars and treated him with the barest minimum of human dignity, Te'ijal was but a repugnant scuff on his pristine shoe. She, in turn, made no secret of the fact that she'd waste little time killing him were he not carrying Talia's garlic necklace. Lars knew that should bother him, but he just couldn't quite bring himself to care. The constant animosity, however, was starting to wear all four travelers thin. They needed a swift turn of events.

The Darzons and their neighbors were all very welcoming people, but none of them had beds or space to spare in their tiny wooden houses. Everything was so cramped up there in the mountains. Lars wondered how they could possibly make flour for their bread. The location was definitely not convenient for importation. Lying awake at the camp they made near the maypole, Lars wondered what it would be like to grow up in such isolation. He'd felt trapped in Ghalarah, but his barriers were mostly psychological. Here, it seemed like the physical act of leaving would be a near impossibility.

And Rhen did it easily. As did her friend, Peter, whose name made his gut curl and stretch like a restless cat, and apparently Peter's sister, whose name was... Sophie. What odd names these westerners had. Tailor told them everything--about the festival from which Rhen was kidnapped, how long it took her to return, the strange sailor named John who they thought seemed kind but who could have influenced her or even stolen her away... their fears. Tailor gave him a signet ring from a locked wooden chest in his living room. They knew.

When Tailor pressed the ring into Lars' hand, it was plain he was struggling with tears. "Please... tell Devin I'm sorry," he whispered, unable to summon a firmer voice without weeping.

The signet ring lived in Lars' pocket now, next to Rhen's months-old note, and he was resolute that he not be parted from either for longer than the duration of one bath.

Lars had finally gotten used to sleeping with clothes on, and he was glad for that. While it was no snowscape, Clearwater wasn't exactly balmy in early November, and it was difficult to sleep in the chilled air. He looked around him. Elini was snoring peacefully by his feet. Dameon was... sitting upright, apparently making no effort to rest. Lars propped himself up on one arm and squinted at the priest. Was he praying?

"Lost for sleep, Lars?"

Startled, Lars rose to his knees, and Dameon turned around to face him. Lars cleared his throat. "Do all priests have eyes in the backs of their heads?" he queried.

Dameon smiled that gracious smile which didn't quite fill his face. "I trained in silence and sensory deprivation for a time. I can tell what's around me. Are you cold?"

"Not at all," lied Lars. "I just have a lot to think about."

Their stares met. Something in Dameon's brown eyes, whenever they locked in, seemed determined to identify Lars' truths, disarming him. Lars shielded his mind from those probing eyes, but still they lanced through his lungs. His breath caught imperceptibly.

"It must be difficult," said Dameon after that pause, maintaining contact. "Seeing the life of the girl enslaved in your household. I can't imagine what you're feeling. Guilt?"

"Jealousy," Lars said immediately, then sat back a little, surprised by his own honesty. There was no reason to hide this, he told himself; Dameon already knew about his poor relationship with Rona. "There's a lot of love here."

Dameon nodded. "I can understand that."

Lars sighed internally. It wasn't as if he and Dameon _never_ had pleasant conversations. They were just usually overshadowed by how often the boy could be an absolute--

"Where's Te'ijal?" said Dameon abruptly, looking around.

Lars looked over his shoulder and slowly climbed to his feet. "I don't see her," he said, troubled. "I'm going to look around."

He told himself he was glad to be free of that piercing gaze, but as he left the campsite on his own, he quickly remembered the cold.

She wasn't down by the cave at the Clearwater entrance, for which he was grateful, because she would've seen him slip on a loose brick in the stone staircase. She didn't appear to be anywhere on the upper end of town, either. However, as he walked back with concerned haste in his step, he saw dark movement from the corner of his eye just behind the Darzons' house. He froze and stared.

He heard a quiet scraping noise like wood against wood, just barely audible beneath the trills and calls of nighttime creatures, and then an _oof._ That was enough for him. On tiptoes, he scurried around the side of the house, and there she was, or at least there was half of her, wedged tight between the window and sill of Rhen's foster parents' bedroom.

Lars winced. As quietly as he could, he slid the window open just wide enough to yank her out and shut it again.

Te'ijal brushed off her skirt and smiled. "Oh, my dear friend, your timing is--"

 _"What! Are! You! Doing!"_ Lars whispered sharply, all but snarling at the vampress. "What makes you think you can sneak into this house in the middle of the night?!"

She simpered. "Oh, but they invited me in!"

"Through the _front door!_ In the _daytime!"_

"Yet here I am, at the window at night, able to enter the house. In a manner of speaking." She frowned at the window. "I may, come morning, suggest to Tailor the installation of better-fitting jambs."

Lars put a hand to his forehead. He already knew the answer to his question. "And what, exactly, did you intend to do once you made it the rest of the way through the window?"

"Enjoy a hot, fresh meal, of course!" Te'ijal grinned at him, suddenly all fang and a little too much ferality. "I need only eat once or twice per week, and I believe it best we not spend an excess of time or money on my refreshments."

"What did you eat in Ghed'ahre?!"

"Oh, I cannot _believe_ I never showed you our pantry! I visit when the moon is not new. We have the most delectable variety. It is underground so the contents cannot figure their way out." She chatted as if they were discussing radishes at the weekend market. Lars gaped.

"How... is... I..." he stood there stammering, lost for words. "Oh my gods. Just come with me."

She frowned. "But--"

_"Now."_

He grabbed her arm and started walking her to the town square. She grumbled behind him. "You are lucky that garlic protects you from being put back in your place, Uplander."

Lars marched Te'ijal back to the party camp, barely bothering to stay quiet. Elini roused and rubbed her eyes. Dameon glared at the vampress.

"I don't think I need to ask you what you've been up to."

She wrinkled her nose. "Have I mentioned lately what a shame it is you were not frozen with the other druids?"

Lars stifled a snort.

Dameon addressed him. "This monster can't remain among our number any longer."

"So what do you want to do?" Lars rolled his eyes. "Set her loose?"

"Stake it, Lars," said Dameon, a thin film of impatience stretched over his voice.

 _"Kill_ her?!" Lars let go of Te'ijal's arm and strode to Dameon. "Are you serious?!"

"It's a murderous menace," hissed Dameon. "It should never have been released from Ghed'ahre."

"She saved my _life!_ When have _you_ done that recently?"

"Saved your life, fine, but at the cost of how many others?!" Dameon's arm swept up past his head. Lars was tempted to reach up and snatch it down. They were inches apart now.

"You do _not_ have my permission to kill her," snapped Lars, arms folded across his chest.

"Your _permi--"_ Dameon cut himself off, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hands. He dropped them after a second, eyes turned towards the heavens, mouth just ajar. "Right, right. Fine. The vampire will remain with us. _To keep Aia safe."_

 _You're a dramatic little brat in an oversized costume,_ thought Lars, but he bit it back. He said, "Good. Te'ijal, don't leave camp for the rest of the night. You're on thin ice."

She sighed adoringly. "How noble of you to battle on my behalf, my friend!"

Dameon's eyes could have cut steel. "Sit. On your bedroll. Now."

Sensing sternness from both Dameon and Lars, she sat, legs crossed, atop her bedroll. She looked at Lars expectantly.

Dameon pulled the garlic braid from his robes and smashed it beneath his foot. Sticky juice spurted out, and Te'ijal recoiled with a hiss. He glared at her as he picked the garlic up, ground it a little in his hand, and began smearing it in a circle around her sleeping bag.

Her eyebrows shot up and she made a noise of distress. "This is how you intend to treat me, then, priest?"

"It's better than you deserve."

"Ha. Fine. And now you are without your own protection. You should keep an eye behind you once we have struck camp." She hid her hurt well, Lars thought; just well enough to sound threatening.

Dameon finished his craft and wiped the garlic from his hands. "Is that so."

"Yes."

He squatted to look her directly in the eyes. "You cannot hurt me."

They stared for a moment, venom and ice mingling between them. Finally, she said, "You are bluffing."

He leaned in, his face an inch from hers. "Try it."

Then he stood and returned his attention to Lars, who was a little uncomfortable and wasted no time telling Dameon so. "I won't have you threatening my allies like that," he said, brow furrowed.

Dameon scoffed. "But you'll have them threaten me?"

"I... look--"

"The safety of all Aians is my first priority," Dameon interrupted. "I've done my best to aid you, and you continually reject me, so I am forced to attend to my duties whether they please you or not."

"Maybe your 'duties' steer you in the wrong direction," snapped Lars.

"Well!" Dameon dropped onto his bedroll and turned away. "Anytime _you_ would care to take up the mantle and responsibilities of the sun druid, feel free."

Lars sighed. He was too tired to argue with that. He returned to his own bedroll. "Te'ijal, _don't_ try to eat anyone else. That's not a request."

"But I am hungry," she muttered.

"I can help," said Elini, and the other three suddenly remembered she was there.

Te'ijal fixed her with a pathetic frown. "What do you mean?"

"Vampires can feed without killing or turning the humans," Elini explained, matter-of-fact, as if teaching a seminar. "I have read the literature about this. It often leads to--"

"Do _not_ believe everything you read about us, my friend," warned Te'ijal.

"I understand. Yet, it is true, is it not? You can feed without killing."

"That is... difficult."

"I have done more difficult things for food, and you can, as well. Would you be satisfied for a time with my blood?"

Te'ijal reeled back, nearly touching the garlic ring behind her. "Elini! You would offer this for me?"

Elini shrugged. "You are a dear friend. Perhaps you may make it up to me in some way."

The vampress rushed forward to embrace Elini, but was stopped short at the other edge of the ring. She huffed in frustration. "I cannot express my gratitude for your generosity! I will be sure to purchase you the foods which humans eat to make blood, such as fruit juice and raw meat."

"I don't think that's right," said Lars.

Elini blew Te'ijal a kiss over the ring, and Te'ijal, delighted, pretended to catch it in midair. Lars rolled his eyes. It was sweet, at least, that Te'ijal had someone near her who could so easily lift her spirits, but that was probably enough of them for one night. He pulled the covers over his head.

That was the third day.

On the fourth day, they hunted down the demon in the highlands. Demons, surprising no one, were never easy creatures to track. Elini gave them a bit of an edge, but it still took the entire day for them to figure out the cute old hermit in the southeast had trapped the demon in his backyard. Quite a shouting match ensued when he asked the party to retrieve his eye, but the old man was neither the shouter nor the shoutee, cozy in his rocking chair as Dameon and Lars debated busting through the fence outside. Dameon won. They agreed to find the eye. The old man graciously let them sleep in his house that night. Te'ijal smuggled a skirtful of apples out of the kitchen for Elini.

On the fifth day, they backtracked all the way to Brumwich. Somehow, they got lost. Again. Lars and Dameon argued about whether they should spend the night (it was dinnertime when they reached the village) or push through to the cultists' house. Lars won. They slept in Brumwich.

On the sixth day, they took a wrong turn and accidentally ended up at some children's school, and the headmaster decided Dameon should perform a guest lecture about kindness and altruism. Lars spent the entire day laughing in the courtyard. They slept in a spare dorm complex.

On the seventh day, they fought the cultists. Te'ijal was spoiled for choice of delicious jugulars. There was something deeply unsettling about the labyrinthine house, so they all agreed to spend as little time there as possible. They found the eye and rappelled out of the house through a window. Yet again, they failed to find Brumwich before dark. They slept in the plains, Te'ijal keeping watch.

On the eighth day, they hustled to the highlands, gave the hermit his eye, killed the demon, and saved Armaiti's soul. And that was all before noon.

Lars was relieved they'd finally made good time. He was pretty certain they were usually held up by constant arguments about whether to stop for lunch, or whether to avoid the plains hydras they could be killing for valuable training experience, or whether the slowing spell Talia taught Lars was a more efficient version than the one Dameon knew. Frankly, Lars didn't think there was much of a difference between the two, but three days prior, he'd already made the mistake of saying as much about Dameon's antitoxin spell and Talia's cure-all, and... that was a long day.

Green Rock Temple, perched atop a cliff Lars thought defied the known laws of physics, was much taller than it was wide. Lars wished he could float up to the vine-draped ceiling just to get out of the close quarters he now shared with Dameon as the two druids spoke.

"We're searching for the prophesied princess, who lived her childhood in your domain," explained Dameon.

"I believe I know the girl of whom you speak." Armaiti nodded gravely, cupping a hand before their chin. "I sensed magic in her since her first visit to the temple."

"It seems we were merely a day late to Clearwater after she left. We were informed she fled to Sedona to hunt down a missing friend. If you find it acceptable, we wish to search in Sedona before escorting you to Aveyond."

"We should not tarry more than a couple of days."

"I agree."

Lars shifted to lean against a tall urn and looked up. Gods, this was awful. He hated the smell of his unwashed companions. He hated the sound of Dameon's saccharine cardamom syrup voice. He hated the autumn leaf mold clogging his unacclimated sinuses. He hated standing still and doing nothing. He had to pee.

The druid gathered their minimal possessions, and the traveling party began the scenic walk down the cliffside steps. Lars walked behind Dameon, who smelled _much_ better than Te'ijal or Elini, faintly of cloves and rosewater. It was funny; every time Lars found himself and Dameon near the edge of a steep drop, that same urge to push the druid over the edge flushed through him. A good thing, Lars thought, that he was such a temperate and self-restrained person.

He avoided speaking during their descent because he was slightly afraid that he'd lose concentration and slip, but once they reached horizontally uniform land, he rolled out his neck and groaned. "Ugh, what a hike," he said. His calf muscles trembled a bit.

Elini put a hand on his shoulder. "I admit I will be happy when we set foot upon the city streets."

Lars sniffed. "I'm interested to see whether Sedona and its cheese are as incredible as they say."

"Veldti cheese is far superior, but you will not hear me say this in the ear of a westerner."

"We'll be on the ketch for a few more days. Is there anything you'd like us to bring for, ah... Te'ijal?"

Elini laughed. "I shall purchase what I need at the harbor market."

Dameon turned his head to glance back at Lars. "Why would we take the ketch?"

Lars raised an eyebrow. "Uh... what _else_ would we do?"

The terrain around them flattened as the tangled forest thinned. Te'ijal shot down a ravwyrn as it pursued them, and Elini incinerated it with a summoned imp. Lars and the two druids kept walking; their rear guard could handle anything that followed them. They worked both harmoniously and ruthlessly.

"We should take the merchants' pass," said Dameon, as if it was the most obvious idea in the world. He fell back a little to walk beside Lars, letting Armaiti take the lead.

"Right, of course," snipped Lars. "With the merchant access card we obviously have, because, you know, we're merchants."

"I have an access card," offered Armaiti.

"So, what, we should leave our ketch sitting unattended at the docks?" Lars' voice rose. "What an absolutely brilliant plan. I was so looking forward to the part where we're gone for weeks and someone steals my boat."

"We've already been gone for over a week," Dameon pointed out, infuriatingly calm. "It's just as likely to be gone now as it will be when we return for it in a few days."

"Oh, so it's just _fine_ with you to keep rolling the dice day by day, is it?"

"Lars--"

"How _illogical_ is it for us to travel to Sedona, a city with a _heavily-guarded port,_ by _foot_ when we have a boat?! We'll need that boat as soon as we're ready to head for Aveyond!" He wasn't even sure what he was saying at this point. In the back of his mind, he knew that he was mad because he had a clear image of what they would do next, and every time he was forced to deviate from his story he wanted to _rip out his hair,_ and it was _orders of magnitude_ worse because _Dameon_ was the one objecting--

"Fine." Dameon's voice, still level, cut into Lars' frenzied thoughts. "If you believe it important, we'll go retrieve the ketch and sail it to the Sedonan docks."

Lars blinked, nearly tripping over his own feet. His anger fell away like a dying breeze. "Ah... yes." He remembered to be imperious. "We will."

Every once in a while, Dameon would do this. It was like he started arguments just to be contrary, and then he'd break it off when the amount of yelling eclipsed the amount he actually cared about the argument. Dameon didn't _flinch_ at the yelling. It didn't seem to really affect him at all, now that Lars thought about it, considered that honey-smooth attitude thick enough to smother him, fluid enough to drown him. He just _stopped_ when Lars got sufficiently upset, as if placating a child throwing a tantrum. Heat shot to Lars' cheeks. Was that what he was to Dameon? A hysterical _kid?_

Dameon clapped one hand to Lars' shoulder, and suddenly, it was okay. They both stood under six feet tall, only Dameon's crest of hair making him look the taller of the two. Lars felt strength in Dameon's arm as it rested just over his shoulderblades, but also a lean sort of apprehension, the same weakness that Lars concealed ever since he learned that some boys were just smaller than others. Dameon was only around eight months Lars' elder. No matter how they fought, Lars remembered, they were partners. No matter how thick Dameon's beard or how hard his jaw, they were the same.

Of course, Lars' reticent fondness melted away the instant he laid eyes on the empty piling where his ketch was supposed to be docked.

"It's _gone!"_ he wailed. "We left it here for a _week_ and it's _gone!"_

Dameon plucked a plain letter opener and a torn sheet of paper from the piling. "'Sorry we stole your boat; try that one.'" He sniffed.

Lars snatched the paper from him and read it to himself two, three, four times. With a shaking hand, he drew out the note he kept in his pocket, unfolded it, held it up beside the new one. The handwriting was different, but...

"I shall go extract our dues from the harbormaster," declared Te'ijal, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic, and she sprinted away. Deep in a blue mood, Lars couldn't be bothered to send a chaperone, and by the time Dameon spun around to stop her, she was out of sight.

Lars tossed away the new note and tucked the old one back into his pocket. "'Try that one,'" he repeated. He looked left and saw the dilapidated sloop which was there when they first docked. _"That_ one?"

Elini wrinkled her nose. "Perhaps not."

Dameon crossed his arms and fixed his gaze on Lars. "It seems we are to take the merchant pass after all."

For a wild moment, Lars' mind calculated all possible scenarios in which the theft of the ketch could be Dameon's design. Oh, he wanted _so_ badly to be mad at Dameon, to blame him for something, somehow. He knew there was nothing, not even a trace of likelihood that Dameon engineered this _just_ to ruin Lars' day, but it certainly felt that way as they stood there on the dock. Every fiber of this priest's being ran antagonistically against Lars' instincts. He just made Lars so... _angry,_ so incensed, like nothing and no one ever had before.

Through his teeth, he said, "So it seems."

Eight days, and Lars knew that, more than anyone in the world, he hated Dameon Maurva.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you check the ship tags?


	16. Juniper, Cedar, Lavender, Sage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What we carry forward can sometimes change what we leave behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor language warning.

"Oh my gods, Peter... what are you doing here?"

Sophie held her arms out low, as if asking him to hug her but not sure he'd even want to. He rushed her, pinning her arms down and squeezing her til she laughed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I've missed you so much," he choked out.

"I've missed you, too."

 _This must be what it's like to have a sibling,_ thought Rhen. Absently, she rubbed a shiver from her arms.

"You're so _tall_ now! And your voice doesn't sound like an angry goose anymore."

Peter pulled away to look at Sophie. "Did your hair get darker?"

She sniffled and nodded. "All this time underground probably did it."

Rhen took a deep breath. She was feeling anxious, perhaps because of the threat of arrest the following morning, or because some part of her was convinced an army of orcs would come hurtling through the cave entrance at any moment. They needed to get this hunt moving, and part of her yet again didn't quite believe what she saw before her, an old childhood friend clad in the garb of an illicit guild ringleader.

Sophie must have heard Rhen inhale, because she looked around Peter's shoulder and grinned. "So it _is_ you, Lav. I knew you couldn't be too far behind." She strode forward and swept Rhen into a strong embrace, smelling like smoke and wet leaves and a spicy incense Rhen couldn't identify.

"Hi, Sophie," she murmured.

"I can't believe you remember our old nicknames," said Peter. "Scratch that; I can't believe you use 'Juniper' in the guild!"

"Are you still 'Cedar'?" A huge smile pressed Sophie's freckled cheeks as she released Rhen and turned once more to her brother.

"We haven't used the nicknames much since you left," said Rhen. "But... wait. Are you _leader_ of this guild now?"

Sophie pulled a very Sophie face, looking to the ceiling and stretching one corner of her lips, ignoring the tears drying on her cheeks. "Well, inasmuch as we have a 'leader,' I guess I am. To everyone here, I'm just as much one of them as anyone else wearing a brown cloak."

"Sounds like you do the hard work, though," said Peter.

"Well... assassination... yeah." She laughed sheepishly. "There's something you never mean for your little brother to find out. That was only the second time, thank the gods. I also delegate the contracts, plan out the bigger heists."

"How is that _possible?_ You've been gone five years, not twenty!"

Sophie gestured up at the higher tiers of the cave. "Most of these people haven't been here very long, either. Actually, the guild was rather destitute when it found me."

Rhen perched on the stone ledge behind her. "Hang on," she said. "How _did_ they find you?"

"Let me answer both of your questions," said Sophie, crossing her legs and sitting on the bare cave floor across from Rhen. Peter and John sat on the ledge, Peter's legs swinging a little with excitement. "I knew I wanted to start over in Sedona. I thought I might become an apprentice or something, but... when I got here, I realized I didn't know what it was I wanted to do. Eventually, I ran out of money and had to rely on those less-than-savory skills we practiced together as kids in Clearwater. I got picked up by the guild pretty early. It turned out that the thieves' guild was, at the time, nowhere near as large or prosperous as outsiders thought. They were excellent at subtle propaganda, convincing the layman and even the king's guard that they were flourishing."

Galahad, still standing, snorted. "Poppycock."

"Anyway," continued Sophie, "I was young and self-absorbed, and I believed I could offer more than my petty theft skills. The guild was less than ten strong at the time, and none of them a mastermind; their last leader vanished some months before I came along. I pitched in more than my fair share of ideas for elaborate jobs, and the thieves' guild gradually grew more prosperous. More thieves joined over time, and we provided them with the help they wouldn't have found on their own."

"The only 'help' needed by these vagabonds is rehabilitation by way of the pillory," groused Galahad.

Sophie laughed. "Oh, how many times I've wished to tie _your_ ankles, Sir Galahad! I'll take your challenge as a question. Look there." She pointed into the throng of thieves. Rhen's gaze followed to see a thief sitting on the edge of a platform, knitting. "We call her 'Scarf'. She has five children at home, and her husband left her three years ago. She was inches from getting caught when Tally and I snatched her up. You should see her kids now; strong, healthy, and clad in the highest-quality knitwear in Sedona. In another few months, she's going to close with us and open a shop."

Rhen flashed a glance at Galahad. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Oh, I know you don't have enough evidence to convict anyone you see topside. Tally over there is responsible for the little calendar you see behind me," Sophie continued. There was, in fact, a massive chart of hundreds of lines scratched into the stone, some colored with paint, and Rhen couldn't make heads nor tails of it. "She was disgraced in her hometown to the south, accused of infidelity and witchcraft, and kicked out of her husband's house with nothing but the clothes on her back. She'd been trained to be a wife and mother her entire life, and now she has a brand on her wrist so no man will ever take her again. She had no other skills then. Now, she has several." Sophie scanned the dozens of thieves above them, then gestured at another. "Cordy is the sweetest man you'll ever meet, but he can't keep a single job in town. His reasons are his own. You've never met anyone who tries as hard as he does to turn things around for himself. Thing is, we have nothing to lose down here. Anyone who's spurned topside has a place to learn and infinite second chances down here."

"And you're responsible for them?" asked Rhen. She still wasn't sure how she felt, sitting there in front of Peter's runaway sister, who'd apparently been snug and thriving for some time at the head of the largest organized crime faction anywhere on Aia.

Sophie laughed. "They're responsible for themselves! I just help as much as I can."

"Then why didn't you just come home?" Rhen blurted. She didn't know what she was saying until she said it, and she could feel Peter glaring at her as she spoke, willing her to _shut up._

"I guess that's a fair question." Sophie leaned back on her palms, staring up at the glittering ceiling. Her voice was quiet, now, but it echoed eerily in the silence it left behind. "I... think I always knew Clearwater wasn't where I belonged, but..."

Peter knelt beside her. She shook her head.

"I had to find three things before I knew I couldn't leave," she continued, her voice firmer, clearer. "First, and maybe the hardest, I had to find my people. My clan. I can't explain the bond I have with them."

As she spoke, she gestured again at the thieves behind them. Rhen felt John shift beside her, clasping his hands in his lap.

"Are they your family now?" asked Peter. Rhen heard the haunt in his voice.

She looked at him fondly. "Not a day goes by I don't wish you were among them."

Peter chuckled, apparently mollified. "I wouldn't make a half-lousy thief."

"What are the other two things?" asked Rhen.

"The second thing I had to find was my heart. My talent, my passion. I never felt good at anything other than goofing off back in Clearwater. When I came here, and I learned I was actually _great_ at something, I felt like... I was almost there."

"All right," said Peter. "What about the third thing?"

She hummed a little through her nose before answering. "I had my heart, and I had my people, and the third thing was that... they _needed_ me."

John cleared his throat, and Rhen cupped her cheeks, resting her elbows on her knees.

"I mean, these are incredible, talented people," Sophie explained. "They would be okay if I left, you know? They'd push on. But I'd leave a hole, and we all know it's not a hole they could truly fill again. Tally's that way, too. And Exit and Woodmouse."

"Exit!" exclaimed John, suddenly alert. "I know Exit!"

Sophie looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. "You're kidding!"

"No, I really do! I used to deal with the guild all the time. Does he still have that hideous beard?"

"Actually, he shaved it off last Fool's Day!" Sophie giggled.

John gasped. "I can't imagine him without it! Still got the mustache, though?"

"Uh-huh! His chin is actually really tiny!"

They both snickered for a moment. Rhen and Peter glanced at one another. His smile softened her nerves, and she smiled back.

He sighed after a moment, wistfully content. "So... you're really never coming back, then."

"I'm sorry, Peter."

"No! Actually, it's all right. I mean... I know where you are, now, and that you're happy, and I... couldn't be jollier, in fact." He looked her, beaming through his red hair. "And I love that you're still Juniper."

"Oh, my Cedar Peter." Sophie beamed right back, then looked to Rhen. "And our lovely Lavender!"

"She's more of a violet, I'd say," interjected John.

"She's Lavender because she'll grow anywhere," explained Peter. "And because of her hair."

"That part, I figured."

"I'm just Cedar because it rhymes with Peter. Mine was the first nickname, actually."

"And you grow tall," said Sophie. "You can see far beyond yourself. I've always admired that about you. Oh, there was... Vanna? What did we call her? Fennel! Do you still dally with her?"

Peter blushed. "Actually, ah... we found out the hard way that she isn't... quite my type. It's all right; we're still friends."

Sophie nodded. "And Sage? I half expected to see him here with you two. Where is he?"

Rhen swallowed. "Danny is missing."

Sophie leaned forward, paling. "He's missing?"

"He went looking for me, after... um, it's quite a long story, but he went looking for me, and now we're looking for him."

"He meant to visit Sedona," said Peter. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

Sophie shook her head. "Gods... I would have known if he'd stayed in Sedona... But of all the people I'd expect to see alone in the city, Sage is quite low on the list. He must have been terrified for you."

Rhen couldn't speak.

"We were inseparable," murmured Peter. "When Rhen was kidnapped six months ago, things... changed."

"Can I offer my help? I have a considerable array of resources at my disposal."

Galahad _growled_ a little.

"Well, we'd be in your debt if you just checked the rumor mill, the comings and goings..." Peter clicked his tongue. "Although we soon might lack a captain to sail us to find him."

"Right." Sophie looked at John. "A pirate, surely, if you've had dealings with us."

"They might be implicated in my crimes," said John, nodding his head towards Rhen and Peter. "That's what worries me."

"Excuse me," Galahad finally said, an edge in his voice. "I believe you tried to _assassinate the king."_

"Oh, right!" Sophie laughed. "That. Yes, I did."

"You always did have bad aim," jabbed Peter.

"No, darling; your ego is just so big it has its own gravitational pull."

Rhen snorted. "That is _definitely_ your sister."

"The king," demanded Galahad, "or there will be no further talk."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "What a silver tongue. Yes, I was _hired_ to assassinate the king, a man against whom I bear no personal grudge."

"You _will_ tell us who hired you, or I--"

"Yes, I will."

"--will invoke the wrath of the crown and arrange your execution upon morning's first light! What?"

"I said, I will." Sophie stood up and moved to stare Galahad in the eye from more than a foot beneath him. "Should I repeat myself in Veldti? Or Veniaran? Seri, perhaps?"

He glared down at her, his frozen eyes alight with hostility. "I know not what foul spirits might possess a young maiden to behave in this way, but my patience ends where my liege's life begins. Play no games with me."

"I shan't." She put a hand on her hip. "My brother and our all-but-blood sister need my help to secure their freedom, and the life of another dear friend may be at stake. Our roots go deep, entangled in one another; if you uproot Sage, or Lavender and Cedar, then Juniper, too, is displaced like a common weed."

Peter rolled his eyes so just Rhen could see him. She stifled a giggle. Sophie always loved her long, dramatic monologues.

"I grow impatient, scum," hissed Galahad. "I bargain with you only at the will of my king. Tell me who hired you."

"Lord Gavin," she said, as casually as if she'd told him what she ate for lunch.

 _"Lord Gavin?!"_ shouted Galahad. Some of the thieves higher up turned to stare at him. "And why should I believe this? He is a trusted friend of the king!"

"He's hosting a party on Saturday night. Conduct your own investigation." Sophie shrugged. "I _would_ offer one of my own spotters to show you exactly where he files his illicit correspondences--and, believe me, there are quite a few illicit correspondences--but I think you just said you don't bargain with _scum_ like me, so I'll leave that up to you."

"Why should I believe a--"

"Because she's doing this for _me,"_ snapped Peter.

His words echoed through the cave, followed by uncomfortable silence.

A little quieter, Peter continued, "Don't you have family you'd do anything for, Galahad? Don't you _know_ when someone would never steer you wrong?"

Galahad was silent for a little longer than was dignified. "We shall pursue this lead," he said eventually, struggling to sound threatening again. "But if you are seen again on the streets of Sedona, you will be immediately apprehended. Do not diminish the severity of your own crime."

Sophie nodded once. "Very well. Bark-Face!"

A thief slunk down from one of the lower stone platforms and landed beside Sophie. "What can I do for you, Juniper?"

She flicked a hand at Galahad. "Blindfold this one, and tie his hands. Don't want him knowing the way to the hideout."

"Ah... he _has_ been through it once already," pointed out John.

"Oh, sure. We'll just spin him around a few extra times on the way out, take the long way through the woods." Sophie smirked. "Easy enough. We've done it before."

Galahad, unwilling to sour the deal he'd just begrudgingly struck, allowed himself to be blindfolded, spitting invectives the entire time. Rhen almost mourned his injured pride. She did wonder, now that she thought about it, what that look on his face had meant--the one that said he didn't quite understand the concept of family who'd never steer him wrong. There was no way she could see a wedding band beneath his gauntlets, but... wasn't it Sedonan custom for a married man to keep his hair cut above his shoulders?

Peter walked up to Sophie and gently bumped into her arm with his hip. He looked down at her. "Wow, you really are short."

She bumped him back. "Cedar Peter, hundred-feeter."

"I'm going to miss you again," he said. "But not as much this time."

"I know what you mean. I'm better now, too, knowing that you're happy."

He grinned. "And how do you know I'm happy?"

"Your shirt's buttoned one button off from the hem."

Peter yelped and hastened to readjust his buttons as Sophie snickered at him. Rhen raised her eyebrows. She was surprised at herself for not noticing earlier.

Before they left, Sophie murmured something into Peter's ear. He smiled shakily at her, nearly losing his composure but biting his lip to carry through, and whispered something back. She put her hood up, her face disappearing into the folds of purple fabric, and squeezed his hand before letting him go, vanishing behind them in the vast darkness of the thieves' cavern.

 

 

"It's a letter of marque, John. Not a letter of indemnity."

John, who stood (on his feet) before the throne of the king of Sedona, fidgeted with his hands and stared everywhere but the king's face. Rhen stood just behind him, her hand on his shoulder. Peter was beside her, rubbing his forehead. They had both just been pardoned for the relatively minor crime of associating with a pirate; Galahad insisted the king drop the charges of resisting arrest. It was ten o'clock in the morning, Peter's stomach was growling, and Rhen was determined never to sleep in another jail cell ever again.

"Seriously, John," whispered Peter. "Just take it."

Galahad was standing in his favorite spot beside the king, glaring at John. Rhen wondered how much of an influence the paladin had on John's hesitation to work for the king. She knew she'd be reticent to agree to any work when Galahad might be involved. He was stubborn, he always acted angry, he was a loose cannon with minimal self control, he coddled her like no one ever had... he was an ass.

"So you're saying... I'd be doing pretty much what I already do, just... in the name of the crown?" John said slowly.

The king sighed, but his voice remained patient. "Not entirely. The letters authorize you to capture enemy ships and return them to us. We will pay you for ships you bring in once they and their contents have been appraised."

"What... 'enemy' ships, exactly?"

"Demons have been spotted sailing under unrecognized flags," Galahad explained in a resigned, civil tone. "Relations are also _tense_ between Sedona and our neighbors to the west. Furthermore, our scouts report early signs of orcish naval activity around the peninsula."

"The privateer bulletin outlines all existing bounties and levels of permission," added the king.

"Demons, orcs, and as-yet undetermined westerners," John mused. "Sounds like quite a lot of trouble for a simple raider-smuggler such as myself. Are you sure I possess the skills you're looking for?"

Peter rolled his eyes and mouthed at Rhen, _for the gods' sake._

The king netted his fingers together in his lap. "That is for you to decide."

Rhen knew John didn't want to work for the king, to be his "servant," but she also didn't think this offer made him so beholden to the crown. Besides that, she didn't want to know what his punishment would be once he was convicted of piracy and all the associated crimes. She knew he must be scared, too; he would never have even considered privateering if he wasn't in danger of... _no need to think about that._ John needed to be confident. Rhen stood on her toes and said in his ear, "If we can beat a colossal tentacle monster with just two of us on a tiny sloop, you can take on a few demons."

His fist curled beside her, almost reflexively, as she stepped back. "Right... we can choose where we sail, then?"

"Yes."

"We have somewhere to be." He smiled over his shoulder at Rhen. "I accept your letter of marque, um... your highness."

"Excellent." The king raised his chin. "John, you may now consider yourself a free man. Should you renege, however, you will find yourself at my feet again without hope of mercy. Galahad!"

"Yes, my liege."

"You will commence the investigation of Lord Gavin immediately. The sooner we can confirm the veracity of our information, the sooner we can rest easily knowing that John is true to his word."

Galahad cleared his throat. "If I may, my liege?"

"What is it?"

"I wish to accompany _Captain John_ and his crew to ensure the... _ease_ of his transition into lawful employment," said Galahad, and each of the three travelers standing before the throne groaned quietly.

"Do you really?" The king raised a thick eyebrow.

"I also wish to oversee the safety and _preservation_ of the two children traveling with him, as I know they will not leave his side regardless of judicial order," he continued, locking eyes with Rhen as he spoke. "As a paladin and champion of the Goddess, it is my duty to prevent the _corruption_ of our youth."

Rhen sighed.

"Your duty to the Goddess compels you before your duty to the crown," said the king. "I understand. I will appoint Sir Percival to conduct the investigation and command the royal guard in your stead."

"Thank you, your highness." Galahad stepped down the shallow stairs to stand before Rhen. He _bowed,_ and she grimaced. "It is my honor and pleasure to travel beside you, my lady."

"Damn it."

"Now that we're traveling companions, you'll need to agree not to question the methods of your _captain_ henceforth," John told Galahad immediately.

"Until your documents arrive from the notary, you are not my captain," responded Galahad coolly. _"I_ shall hire you a crew before we set sail, and I shall purchase all necessary provisions for our voyage."

"You've never sailed before, have you," guessed John. Galahad didn't answer.

"Courtesy of the kingdom of Sedona, you will be outfitted with Sedonan naval uniforms," said the king. "You may, as independent sailors, wear what you wish; however, you may find it more prudent at some point in time to display openly that you are agents of the crown. I will also equip you with the finest weapons in our arsenal. I assume you sailed in on your own ship?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Then the ship you captain is your responsibility. I expect you should work most efficiently on the ship of your choosing. And remember, John: this is your final chance."

John bowed stiffly at his waist. "I understand."

"You are dismissed."


	17. Apple Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward, five steps back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for teenage drinking, binge drinking, burgeoning alcoholism, minor self-harm, mentions of slavery, mentions of abuse, blood. Minor language warning.

She was there. She _was_ there. She _had been_ there. Lars knew this because everyone and their mother was talking about the three pirates, one sporting purple hair, who'd torn up the city streets before sailing off with the king's right-hand man the following day.

"The following day" meaning earlier the day Lars arrived in Sedona. Hours earlier, maybe. Minutes, possibly. Seconds felt likely.

It was still Friday. Lars and his party, including the spare druid, headed straight for the inn after a brief, cheesy dinner and purchased every empty bed in the building. They all fell asleep immediately, even Te'ijal, who slept poorly most nights outside her coffin.

Saturday morning, Lars' unshorn peach fuzz and Dameon's uncharacteristically wild lick of hair agreed without argument that they should stay another day in Sedona, flighty princess be damned. They were just too tired to push on, too tired even to quarrel.

Lars shaved carefully in the inn's communal powder room while Dameon teased his hair into submission. Light streamed through an eastern-facing window, casting soft shadows on Lars' face and glinting off the gold thread in Dameon's robes. Both of them had their outfits slung over their shoulders while they groomed, clad only in their undershorts and plain, sleeveless tops. They didn't speak, but Lars would occasionally glance over when he thought Dameon wasn't looking. Lars saw soft speckling across Dameon's sculpted jaw and realized even the immaculate sun priest needed to shave around his ridiculous goat beard.

Eventually, Dameon cleared his throat. "Let's have a lesson this morning."

Lars sighed. "Dameon, I am _exhausted."_

"I know. Sometimes fatigue is the best conduit for magic."

"That makes no sense. Ah!" Lars winced as his razor sliced through a layer of skin, fresh blood bubbling up to greet the air.

Dameon put down his own razor and laid a steadying hand on Lars' arm. "You're shaking," he observed bluntly.

Surprised, Lars lowered the knife from his face, and Dameon took it. The priest drew a little closer and pulled Lars in to face him. Lars, too startled to resist the manhandling, huffed through his nose but remained slack. They stood in silence as Dameon finished skimming Lars' jaw with smooth, unwavering strokes, one hand braced above the trimmed hair at the nape of Lars' neck. Lars stared anywhere but Dameon's eyes, his intense, evening-storm eyes, but he was all right _there,_ impossible to avoid entirely. Dameon's full lips were parted just enough that Lars could see him biting his tongue in concentration.

Lars closed his eyes and willed his heartbeat to slow.

He felt the hand leave his neck. When he opened his eyes, Dameon had already returned to his own spot before the wide mirror. An inexplicable surge of disappointment passed quickly as Lars raised his hand to his slit cheek and was startled to find the cut was gone.

"Light magic, huh?" he murmured.

"Easier than shaving," quipped Dameon, casual as could be.

"So you say." Lars took a deep breath, trying to cool himself down. "Why hasn't Talia already taught me, then?"

"Not all powerful mages make the wisest teachers."

Lars prickled. "She's one of the best teachers I've ever had."

"And who's the other? That slip of paper in your pocket?"

A pang of embarrassment racked Lars. "I wouldn't be half the student I am today without Rhen Pendragon," he said, but his gut burned as he spoke those words, distressed by his own puerility.

Dameon sighed hard through his nose, leaning his weight on his arms against the vanity. "She may be the great leader prophesied to defeat Ahriman, I'll give her that, but she's taught you _one_ thing, Lars. For the rest, for your strength, you need to give yourself credit."

"And Talia."

"What?"

Lars fixed him with a firm stare. "I'm a sorcerer because I found magic within myself. But I'm a _mage_ because Talia showed me how to use it."

"There's nothing she could teach you that you couldn't learn from another." Dameon's tone grew cold, a warning that Lars didn't heed.

"Talia is _twice_ as experienced as you. There's nothing you know that she couldn't teach me."

"There isn't an _ounce_ of the light left in that woman!" Dameon snapped, his voice rising abruptly. He snatched his comb and razor from the vanity and pushed past Lars to leave.

Every piece of Lars was shaking when the door slammed shut.

It took a few minutes before he felt he could walk out into the inn without turning red as a tomato. He found Elini and ordered breakfast with her in the downstairs tavern. It was nice having someone else cook for a change. He didn't mind that Te'ijal sat with them, but the way she watched them intently as they ate was a little unsettling. He didn't see Dameon once the entire time.

He dragged his breakfast out a little, reluctant to seek out Dameon, apologize, and commence their practice for the day. He hated to admit it, but the druid's lessons had been invaluable so far. Even so, Dameon was acting insufferable, and Lars was tired of feeling subjugated to his tutor's moods--although, he reminded himself, the "moods" only seemed to flare when Lars mentioned Talia, and he knew this. He could stand to stop bringing her up every time he thought of her. Maybe he did that on purpose, out of spite. Maybe.

Lars figured Dameon was nursing his pride in the temple. In the back of Lars' mind, he realized Dameon must have spent his entire childhood safe and comfortable in such places. He wondered what that was like.

After parting from Elini and Te'ijal, he made to exit the tavern and immediately smacked into a courier upon opening the front door.

"Ah!" he yelped. The courier spilled all of her mail and packages onto the cobblestone road. He closed the door behind him.

"My apologies, sir," stammered the courier, scrambling to collect the mail. "I--I never know quite where to put the mail for the inn. I'm new at this."

"Hmm." Lars wasn't really listening. His eyes, as they swept over the scene at his feet, were caught by an especially large parcel. He snapped to attention as he read the addressee line. "Hang on; this one's mine. The one for 'Lars Tenobor'."

The courier paused and looked up at him. "Ah... hang on; I have to verify..." She rummaged around in her vest pocket, then produced a number of small headshot drawings. "Tenobor... Ten-o-bor... Right, this one." She squinted up at him again. "Yeah, that looks right. Um, let me get it for you."

The courier dumped the mail she'd just picked up and gathered the large parcel into her arms. Lars fished a coin from his pocket and tucked it into her breast pocket before taking the package.

She grinned at him before returning to the mail on the ground. "Thanks, sir!"

"Mhm." Lars turned heel and walked back into the tavern.

He tugged the sturdy string binding off of the parcel before reaching the table he'd left minutes before. He sat and looked at the return address on the package before tearing away the brown paper. It was from Shadwood, apparently, postmarked about four days ago. Lars wondered what they could possibly want to send him.

Inside the paper was a shallow box, and pasted to the front of the box, a letter. Lars looked at the letterhead first--this note came directly from the office of the headmaster. He leaned forward as he read, intrigued.

_"Dear Master Tenobor,_

_Your significant deeds, accomplishments, and advancements regarding the usage of Sorcery have impressed the Board of Graduation at Shadwood Academy._  
_Therefore, the Board are proud to unanimously affirm your passage from the rank of Apprentice Sorcerer to the status of fully-fledged Sorcerer._  
_As you are a remote student continuing your studies under the tutelage of an approved mentor, we have taken the liberty of sending by post the appropriate, standard-issue Affirmed Sorcerer robes along with your Certificate of Graduation._  
_Your interim mentor, Dameon Maurva, sent us an excellent progress report and demonstrated to us in no uncertain terms that you have far exceeded the expectations set forth by the Board."_

(Lars swallowed.)

 _"We encourage you to continue your studies outside the jurisdiction of the Academy, particularly with the distinguished mentors who have already enriched your magical knowledge and acumen._  
_We hope to see great things from you in the coming years, and we sincerely wish you the best of luck on your pending quest._

 _Sincerely,_  
_Headmaster Harald_  
_and the Shadwood Academy Board of Graduation"_

The jitters returned to Lars' hands, and he tore away the top of the box to reveal his certificate of graduation nestled atop the blue silk universally indicative of affirmed sorcerers. He plucked the certificate from its perch, carefully holding it by the very edges, and admired the metallic golden seal and Harald's looping signature before placing it gently atop the table. Then, he slowly unfolded the robe, stepping away from his chair as it unfurled. Without even trying it on, he knew it was the perfect size for him. He wondered whether the green trim matched his hair intentionally.

He admired it for a moment, then snatched up the packaging and the certificate and dashed back up the stairs to discard his student uniform for good.

 

 

Resplendent in blue and reveling in his recent graduation, Lars searched the city streets for Dameon. He was unsuccessful.

It took an hour or so of prancing and spinning and general careless delight before the thrill of wearing his sorcerer's robes wore off and the guilt set in. Everything he said to Dameon that morning, everything he'd said over the past four days, was playing out in his head, reminding him how _willfully_ he clashed with his tutor, how seriously he didn't take the druid. He'd never apologize for standing up for Talia, but how often had malice crept into his defense? How often did he use her as an excuse to take out his frustrations on Dameon?

And, really... without Talia, what did Lars _have?_

She'd eclipsed his life once he started anew, once their journey began. He remembered how he'd only ever thought of her, how he felt restless and _empty_ when her attention turned elsewhere. There was nothing else to fill him up, to make him whole. He had magic. So what? Up until she left, he'd been using it for _her._ Was that truly any different than studying magic just to elevate the pride of the Tenobor Family? And... when he left her in Aveyond, did he leave behind his momentum, his _purpose?_

When he acknowledged how little he genuinely cared about his quest at the start, the bottom fell from Lars' stomach. He realized he'd forgotten to take Rhen's note out of the pocket of his apprentice uniform. The air turned sour.

Maybe it was enough that he cared now. He hoped to the Goddess it was.

Lars was surprised and a little anxious not to see Dameon at the temple. He _needed_ to talk to Dameon. He needed to extract all this introspection from his brain and put it somewhere else, and Dameon probably deserved to know all of this because it affected him and _I'm only wearing this because of you, please, I need to know where you are...._

His feet led him to the saloon. Dameon wasn't there, but Lars was, now.

His legs urged him towards the bar, and he didn't protest. He sat on a stool, carefully arranging his robes around him so as not to crease the fabric. The bartender, a young, dark-haired maiden, gave him a sympathetic look. Without a word exchanged, she reached for a bottle on the top shelf and splashed a couple fingers of amber liquid into a crystalline glass. It looked like apple juice. She set it in front of him.

"Good for heartache," she said simply, then busied herself filling other patrons' orders.

_Heartache?_

_Whatever._

He drank the stuff. It went down like a bread knife. He emptied the glass, slammed it onto the counter, and waved the bartender back over.

"Mhm?" She pressed a hand to her hip and took his glass in the other hand, swirling it lazily.

"Bottle of that," Lars said, a little hoarse.

"You got it."

The light fabric of Lars' robes was layered over several times. Though the first layer draped over him like a bedsheet, the second layer was cinched at the waist with a stylish rope belt, fitted with a few pouches and a space for a hip flask. Lars made a note to acquire a hip flask when he left the bar. For now, the whiskey bottle fit snugly in the woven loops, and if he kept his cloak drawn close around his shoulders, no one would be the wiser. Lars didn't ask for the price before slapping a few coins onto the bar--they probably summed to twice as much as the cost of the whiskey, he hazily thought, but he didn't really care.

He visited the leatherworker. He bought another belt. He was a little tingly by the time he left.

He stood outside the shop for a moment as he reacclimated to the sunlight. Blurrily, he remembered Rona. Right, his _real_ mother--sometimes he forgot that position didn't belong to Talia. He didn't waste time wondering whether Rona was worried about him. Maybe she knew he wasn't still studying at the Academy in Veldarah; more likely, she did know, and she just didn't care. She didn't have to feed him or think about him anymore. Surely she'd found some other poor soul to field her constant complaints. Probably her newest slave.

That... that was something else Lars couldn't understand. How had he _ever_ enjoyed, or even tolerated, owning slaves? He'd seen broken families on his journey, families like jaws missing teeth because of children stolen away in the night. There was no slavery anywhere to be found on the western continent. In Clearwater, there weren't even nobles or landlords. Everyone there worked hard, even the mayor, and they were so _happy,_ a community knit tight with the yarn of cooperation. To them, slavery must sound as foreign as terrace-farming did to Lars. He was disgusted with himself.

Suddenly, Lars felt ridiculous in his oversized blue blanket, like an infant swaddled in the finery of a king. He felt ashamed to wear it. He didn't _deserve_ it, especially not after the way he treated the man who won it for him.

He visited the smith. He forgot to buy a hip flask. He peeled the label off the whiskey bottle and threw the paper away.

He visited a courtyard near the northern road and eavesdropped for a little while. Nothing interesting caught his attention; just a bunch of cheese peddlers gossiping about some tall redhead who set a heart or two pounding, and then a regular overview of which semi-softs sold the most that week. Elini ran into him in the courtyard.

"Lars," she greeted him, dipping her head. "Have you found Dameon?"

"Nope," he said.

"What is in that bottle at your hip?" she asked.

"Apple juice," he said.

She left to buy groceries, or something. Lars realized he was starving. He hunted down a cheese tasting. No; he hunted down a wine and cheese tasting. That was far preferable.

Halfway through the red flight, he felt a little silly in his hedonism. He was supposed to be studying light magic that day, and whoever was to blame for the lesson's cancellation, it was still incumbent upon Lars to learn. When the vintner's back was turned, he cut his hand with a cheese knife and tried for the first time to heal a wound. He pushed outward with as much arcane force as he could muster, but all he accomplished was tipping over his glass and spilling the rest of the Merlot. The panicked vintner bandaged Lars' hand and apologized on behalf of his knife.

He was a little dizzy when he left. He decided to sit by the pond. It sounded like some Lord Gavin was having a party that evening. He needed to do _something,_ he reasoned, so... that would do.

His charisma was loose after a day of drinking. He found the lady of the house and ensnared her attention with the beginning of a scandalous tale about his cousin, the Empress. She formally invited him to attend the party and finish his story. That was good. He had his old clothes from Ghalarah packed in his luggage. It was almost a relief to take off the robes, unclasp his shame from around his chest. The old clothes still fit perfectly despite the fact that he tried twice to stuff two feet into one pant leg. He was still a noble. Hopefully he remembered how to act like one. He forgot the note in his apprentice uniform again.

He was looking for Dameon. Was that all? He hadn't seen Elini or Te'ijal in hours. Were they doing something? Was he supposed to do something?

The sun was going down. Lars joined the chatter and merriment in Lord Gavin's manor. He left his "apple juice" at home... rather, at the inn... why did he do that? Oh, but Lord Gavin said he had  _brandy,_ and his wife wanted Lars to try her favorite cocktail... something called a... a....

 

 

_Oh, sweet miserable braying ass-faced Goddess._

The pain was the first and only thing he could confront when he regained consciousness. A pounding, screaming, hideous pain that made him want to shut off his heart just to stop the agonizing pulse in his skull. The Oracle herself couldn't have persuaded him to open his eyes. Agony coursed through his bones as if he were rigged like a puppet and then pulled as far as his limbs would stretch. His mouth burned, and it tasted _foul,_ and the first thing he said was, "Water."

He was surprised when the darkness beyond his eyelids responded, "Right away."

The footsteps started, and he cringed. It was like she was stomping directly inside his ears. Whomever she was, anyway.

He couldn't identify the surface on which he laid by touch alone. There wasn't much else he could do, so he opened his eyes just a crack. In the blinding light, he recognized nothing.

Well, he recognized Elini, who appeared to be passed out on a rocking chair at the foot of his bed, if it _was_ his bed, next to another chair, still rocking as if someone had just left it. But the chairs, the painted walls, the shelves, the _bed,_ were all unidentifiable. He whined, overwhelmed by pain and confusion, and curled his knees into his churning stomach.

Elini must have finally heard him, because she twitched awake, shaking out her hair and looking straight at him. "Lars," she whispered, a trumpet in his skull. "Good morning."

"Eliniii..." he groaned. "Where...?"

She nodded. "So you remember nothing. I expected this. Te'ijal must give me ten pennies, then."

Te'ijal appeared then, carrying a glass (also unrecognizable) of water. He took it and slowly began the process of sitting up so he could drink from it. His eyes were screwed shut against the harsh light in the room, and he spilled the water once when he was unsure which direction was up.

"Uh..." he whispered. His throat was killing him. "Lights."

"They are all unlit," responded Te'ijal. "And the curtains are drawn."

Lars moaned.

"Drink the water, and it will be over soon," said Elini. "Te'ijal, I win."

Wordlessly, Te'ijal picked ten pennies from her purse and handed them to Elini. They sat for a minute, just watching Lars sip the water.

"You do not remember last night, then," Te'ijal finally said.

Lars shook his head. A dog's bark suddenly pierced his consciousness, rattling him and ringing in his ears.

"Rona," sighed Elini. She stood and left the room. Lars' eyebrows drew inward in confusion as he heard a door open and shut.

"Your dog," said Te'ijal. "You named her Rona."

Lars would have chuckled, had he the strength in his lungs. "I did?"

Te'ijal nodded. "Oh, and--" A black cat jumped onto her lap and meowed in her face. She grinned. "This is Te'ijal. And the one under your bed is Elini."

Lars granted a smile passage across his aching face. "Really?"

"Yes! You were insistent when we found you."

"Where are we?"

"Your house."

"In... Ghalarah?"

"We are still in Sedona. You purchased this mansion."

Lars stared at her, at the manicured hand stroking Te'ijal (the cat), at her chair, at the wall behind her. He blinked a few times. Something tickled his brow; he reached up and pulled a wet, brown leaf from his hair.

"Um... I bought it... when?"

"Last night, at the former Lord Gavin's party."

"The former--?"

Elini (the human) walked back in the room at a brisk pace. "She will only stay quiet as long as that bone remains in one piece," she said.

Lars' gaze drifted past her to the corner. A neat cluster of unopened glass bottles rested beside a bookshelf; they were filled with... something that looked like apple juice. Lars rubbed his forehead, smearing a little mud against his skin. In the adjacent corner, an object--perhaps a small barrel--was concealed beneath a black sheet atop a table.

"What's that?" said Lars, pointing at the sheet.

"If I remove the blanket, it will begin screaming," warned Te'ijal.

Lars raised his eyebrows. "Well..." he coughed, sipped more water. "Now I have to know what it is."

Te'ijal sighed. She went to the corner and unceremoniously pulled the blanket away, revealing an ornate bronze cage containing some sort of songbird--which did, in fact, begin screaming immediately upon exposure to the room's dim light. Lars winced. _Where on Aia did I get a nightingale?_ He imagined the bird's warbling would actually be quite pleasant were his head not about to explode. He picked another leaf from his hair. Te'ijal put the blanket back over the cage.

"A lot happened last night," explained Elini without really explaining anything. "Worry not about the druid Armaiti; they are waiting in the dining hall."

"Where's... ow." Lars rubbed his eyes hard with both palms, relieving some of the tension in his forehead. Stars bloomed in his vision. "Where's Dameon?"

"He's on his way," replied Te'ijal.

"Wh--?" Before Lars could even ask, he heard the front door open again. Oh, those footsteps. Apparently he knew their cadence now. His heart jumped, then sank.

"I'm back," said Dameon, his voice low. He looked at Lars, and his stony face softened into a gentle half-smile. "Good to see you awake, Lars."

For some reason, Lars felt suddenly as if he might cry.

"He requires our attention," said Elini as Dameon brought her a large paper bag. "Did you get everything?"

"Um... I did my best." He handed Elini the bag, and she peered inside.

"These are not the pickles I wanted, Dameon... You got enough oil, that's good... Did you find the dried--"

"No." Dameon wrinkled his nose.

Elini tutted. "That is a shame. Go put on the kettle and crack some eggs. Here." She handed him a bottle of the oil and some sort of herb from the bag. He took them and left.

Lars rested his head against the cool wall. Everything was a little surreal right now.

Te'ijal sat beside him on the bed. "Now that you have rested, your humors should be balanced again," she told him. "However, you cannot make fresh blood unless you drink water, and you will remain unwell if you do not."

That was probably meant to sound concerned, Lars decided, and he closed his eyes. "Is Dameon making tea?"

"He and Elini could not agree on a recipe for hangover tea, so they have combined the two."

Elini jumped to her feet, shaking the paper bag. "Dameon, you forgot the rabbit droppings!"

Lars shot up, spilling his water on the bed. He didn't care how hungover he was. As he dashed from the room and down the hallway, he wondered briefly just whose recipe involved rabbit excrement. He got lost hunting for Dameon, but soon discovered the kitchen down the first hallway and to the right, nearly tripping over Elini (the cat) on his way there.

He stood, awkward and disheveled in his underclothes, in the doorway to the dining room. "Please don't feed me rabbit droppings," he panted.

Dameon looked up from the stove. A fine sheen of sweat dampened the shaved side of his head. "Don't worry; these are perfectly normal chicken eggs. And the tea is just tea."

Lars collapsed against the doorframe. "Oh, thank the gods."

"It's good to see you up and running. Exercise is one of the best remedies for a hangover." Lars couldn't see Dameon's face from his spot on the floor, but the smile was apparent in Dameon's voice. It felt warm.

"You hang over often, then?" Lars asked.

Dameon chuckled. "I took a vow of sobriety when I became a druid."

"And... before then?"

He said nothing for a moment, letting the crackling of the special oil and the spitting of the eggs fill the room. "Curious, are we?" he finally said.

Lars fidgeted. "Yeah."

"I lived with the priests throughout my childhood, so I followed their rules," said Dameon, quiet. "Things were more difficult when Father... when...."

Dameon exhaled, a rigidity in his breath, and stopped talking. Lars frowned. "You don't have to tell me," he said.

"I've had a couple of hangovers," finished Dameon. "Tea and sweat worked best for me."

They stayed there for a bit, Dameon cooking Lars' breakfast while Lars sat slumped against the doorframe. The eggs smelled fantastic, and Lars' stomach settled enough to growl with anticipation. When Elini (the human) walked in to check on him, he asked her to take his party clothes to the wash. He didn't want to get up, and he didn't need to say so to Dameon, who sat on the floor next to Lars, handed him a plate of impeccably-cooked breakfast, and held the cup of tea until he wanted it.

"Congratulations on your affirmation," Dameon said when Lars finished his eggs.

"Thank you," said Lars, suddenly forgetting all at once everything he wanted to say to Dameon the day before. His face felt hot.

Eventually, Dameon left for the docks to see about purchasing a new ship, something fast that could keep up with Rhen Pendragon's skudder. Lars must have fallen asleep again, but he didn't remember getting back into bed. He stayed there for a while.

Dameon returned a couple hours later with a dark look on his face. Lars sat up to receive the news, kicking off the bedsheets. Te'ijal, who was still sitting at the foot of Lars' bed, turned to face Dameon as well.

"You're not going to like this," Dameon warned them.

"Today, I can take pretty much anything," Lars said. Even after all that water, his head still felt fuzzy.

"The skudder was the last seaworthy vessel available at the Sedonan docks," Dameon said. "Nothing else will be ready at the shipyards for at least a week."

"Ugh." Te'ijal grimaced, showing her fangs.

Lars rubbed his temples. "Okay... that's not great."

Dameon shook his head. "I'm not sure what our options are right now."

Lars was still too foggy to think. He just sighed, hoping that someone else would take care of things for a little while.

"We should return to the eastern docks," said Te'ijal like it was the most obvious yet distasteful solution ever. "If we are _lucky,_ a new boat will be for sale there."

"And if we're unlucky?" snipped Dameon, barely glancing at the vampress.

"The sloop," muttered Lars. Te'ijal and Dameon looked at him.

"The sloop?" repeated Te'ijal.

"That... tiny sloop. The ramshackle one covered in sea monster blood. The one someone left behind when they stole our ketch. Surely no one _else_ has taken it."

"You're not serious," scoffed Dameon. "Five of us on that thing?

Lars' face was grim. "Unless you have a better idea."

They were silent.

Finally, Dameon said, "We'll try that one."


	18. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sailing isn't for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for a mention of teenage drinking. Mild language warning.

Around eleven o'clock on Friday morning, as Rhen made for the Sedonan docks with a gleaming new sword at her waist, a plump woman somewhere in her middle age sporting a messy gray bun and an exquisite knit scarf brushed past Rhen on the street and whispered in her ear, _"Wildwood."_

That was all she needed. She met John, Peter, and Galahad on board the new skudder at the docks, and they set sail.

The first few evenings with Galahad were difficult. Although he hovered by Rhen like an ominous, grumpy bodyguard, he was usually silent, reminding Rhen at times less of a man and more of the steel "servant-machines" in her favorite innovative-fiction novel. It made her a little wistful, actually; she regretted not grabbing a book or two from the stash under her bed before leaving Clearwater. Her life was its own fantasy now, but during the salt-spray days when no sea demons sprung rudely upon them, there was quite little to do.

Galahad, though... Galahad was like any paladin from any romance novel Rhen once devoured--to the _letter--_ but he was so thoroughly unappealing. She was learning things. Older men were not as charming as fiction professed. He could be her father--not very _well,_ granted, but he technically _could_ be, and the distance between them was such that she couldn't imagine what kind of alien creature could possibly find him attractive.

On Sunday evening, after about the fiftieth time he cleared his throat while she and John played a rousing game of two-card flip on the deck, she scooted her chair around to stare at him.

"May I offer you a glass of water, Sir Galahad?" she asked, pointed.

His eyebrows and lips forming nearly parallel lines upon his face, he said, "No, that is fine."

She rolled her eyes. "Formality is a waste of time here."

"You'll have to learn that soon," added John. "Our methods of operation are tight; we don't need a mule aboard the ship."

"Who would swab up after him?" joked Rhen.

Galahad remained silent, his troubled gaze fixed on Rhen. She sighed.

"Look, if something is bothering you, it's not going to get better simmering in your head like that," she told him.

"You seem the type to deliberately--"

"Shut up, John." She held out a hand to silence him. "We're all people here, and I can only imagine how you must feel about everything that happened the other day. So we're going to talk about it. Mission leader's order."

Galahad exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. "You are quite unlike any maiden I have ever met."

"Well, maybe no other 'maiden' was granted the power to make you listen to her."

He almost smiled.

"It should be no grand feat to recount to you exactly what I think of your captain's methodology, my lady, but I would prefer not to rouse the concern of the general crew--" (because there was, in fact, a modest crew of fifteen sailors dashing about the ship at John's whim) "--and I request that we continue this discussion in the privacy of the forecastle."

Rhen glanced at John. He shrugged.

"All right. Shall I take notes?"

"If you find it prudent."

Rhen stood from her chair and John made to follow her, but Galahad thrust out a hand much like Rhen had but a minute before. "Only the lady, _captain,_ if you please."

John crossed his arms and narrowed his eye. "I'll please. For now."

The forecastle, which was outfitted modestly with green drapery and polished wooden furniture, was muffled enough that Galahad could speak freely without being overheard. Rhen was used to fielding her friends' emotions; she coached Vanna through her uncomfortable break-up with Peter, and she coached Peter through his uncomfortable break-up with the concept of women. She sat in a chair, crossed her legs, folded her hands in her lap, and waited patiently for Galahad to get comfortable.

The man was never comfortable. She gave up after a minute and pressed.

"What's the first thing on your mind, then?"

"The king!" said Galahad, a little more forcefully than he intended; he sat back, startled at his own volume. "The king," he repeated more quietly, "was nearly assassinated three days ago."

Rhen nodded.

"I do not believe we should treat assassins with mercy," he continued, still snarling. "We should not have struck a bargain with that... criminal, that low _thief._ We should have extracted the name, one way or another, and then imprisoned them all."

"How would you have 'extracted the name,' then?" Rhen's patience was already thin, but she maintained her composure.

"I... I am a paladin, not a detective," said Galahad through clenched teeth. "That was your--"

"Then why did you come with us in the first place?"

"To ensure that you performed your task to the standards of the crown!"

"And we didn't!"

Galahad threw his hands in the air, then covered his face, elbows on his knees. He took a deep breath before dropping his hands. "No, you did not. I failed."

_"Why,_ though? Why did you let yourself fail? I don't understand."

"I..." Galahad's breath caught in his throat. "I am... unsure."

Rhen sighed. "All right. Let's go over what happened, step by step. First, we were caught and brought into the palace. You saw me and decided you needed to protect me or whatever. The king survived an assassination attempt. I convinced the king to let us hunt down the assassin. You insisted on coming along to enforce your standards. We found the thieves. We learned Sophie was their leader."

Galahad looked away.

Rhen raised an eyebrow. "Is that it? Sophie?"

A noise rumbled from his throat. He didn't look back at her.

"I see." She didn't know what to do with this information. He wouldn't tell her anything, so she just had to figure it out for herself. "You didn't like that I was a pirate because I'm young and a girl. Is that what you felt about Sophie?"

Galahad looked at his feet. "I saw no child in that monster."

"That's... harsh. But all right." What else could it _be?_ Rhen rubbed her head, trying to remember what else bothered him that night. Then, it clicked. Her eyes snapped open. "It was Peter."

He met her wildflower eyes with his February frost. He said nothing.

"Peter told you off because he knew Sophie would do anything for him. Sophie _loves_ us, and... oh... Galahad." It was all hitting her at once. "I'm sorry."

Still, he said nothing.

"Didn't you have brothers or sisters... or... friends like that, when you were young?"

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

"And... you never loved... _loved_ someone?"

"I was engaged to be married once," he murmured at last, his voice as soft and sad as if another man spoke through him. "She left me."

Rhen was quiet.

The two of them sat there for an age, the sealed room pulsing with a silence that rang in her ears. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

"I devoted my life to the Goddess, and She turned my face to the king," Galahad said after one long minute. He closed his eyes. "I pledged myself to Sedona because I knew my kingdom needed me. _That_ is the love that matters."

"You live a very different life than we do," mused Rhen.

Galahad's voice gained strength. "Distraction blinded me to my goal. I could not see what courses of action were laid before me."

"It's okay, Galahad," said Rhen, trying to reason with him but knowing she'd fail. "You're allowed to feel things, you know."

"I have a _job,"_ he snarled. Rhen's stomach dropped.

"And principles, yes; I... I know." She tried to keep her voice level through her sudden guilt. "You could have turned on Sophie, or forced your way out of the hideout without a blindfold, or something, but you didn't--"

"I should never have made any deal in the first place! We could have found the thieves on our own, taken an army and rooted them out!"

"I--I--"

"I failed my king because I was weak, because I saw no other options in the haze of my fear, and I... _allowed_ this immoral act of collusion. Something possessed me--I could not  _think."_

"I'm sorry!" blurted Rhen. "You can blame me, okay? I made the deal. I just wanted... I wanted us to be safe. I wasn't thinking about anyone but myself. Wasn't thinking about... the king, or--"

"Enough."

In one swift stride, Galahad took a knee at her feet. She sniffled, watched tiny teardrops speckle his pristine armor, wondered what possessed her to weep.

"I believe we have both made mistakes," he said, looking up at her, his voice suddenly gentle. "Perhaps we might seek atonement alongside one another this time."

Rhen wiped her cheeks, blinking furiously. "That's... that's fine," she said.

He stood and offered her a hand, which she took as she rose. They walked together out of the forecastle, not speaking, touching, or even looking at one another, resolute in the fading light of their third evening at sea.

"Welcome back," called John from the quarterdeck. "Galahad, you're needed at the mizzenmast. First lesson."

"I will learn nothing from you," groused Galahad.

"Well, not with _that_ attitude."

 

 

The voyage to the eastern continent from the Sedonan docks was to take around five and a half days, and it seemed like they were making perfect time each day. Perhaps a little too perfect. On Monday, they managed to narrowly avoid a storm to the south without, according to the charts, losing any time. After all the mishaps Rhen and John experienced on the ocean over the past couple weeks, she hesitated to believe their fortune wasn't a curse disguised as a blessing.

She confronted John about the trip on Wednesday afternoon, their projected final day at sea. The shore wasn't quite in view yet, but they expected it soon. They stood together on the quarterdeck.

"First time, you miss a gigantic storm along the coast. Second time, you provoke the wrath of a massive sea monster. Third time, you sail the ship into the wrong cove. Am I supposed to believe you're suddenly a master captain?"

"Hey, we have a crew now," said John, retracting his spyglass. "And that second one was hardly my fault; if anything, it was just as much yours."

Rhen rolled her eyes. "I saved us and our boat, if you'll recall."

"By accident."

"And you crashed two ships _by accident!_ All I'm saying is, when we set foot on the western docks, _then_ I'll be satisfied."

"As you command, your highness."

Rhen swatted his arm. "You're a barnacle. I'm the first mate; I have the right to complain."

"Sure." John leaned back on the guard-rail and stretched out his neck. "You know, if something happens to me, that means you have to be the captain. Think you're prepared for that?"

"Prepared to be captain? I suppose." _Prepared for "something" to happen to you? Definitely not._

John smiled. "It's good to see you young folk exercising your skills and taking charge and whatnot."

"Come on; you're not that much older than me."

"I am! I'm, what, twelve years older than you? Maybe seven years older than... Juniper, right? The esteemed head of the thieves' guild." He wiggled his fingers dramatically. "I'm old."

"What's Sophie got to do with anything?"

"She's, like... a younger, more successful version of me." John sighed through his nose.

Rhen crossed her arms and leaned back next to John. She kept an eye on him. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. It's not a big deal, I just... I was thinking about it a little."

Rhen put her arm around John and rubbed his shoulder. He didn't protest, and they just stood for a moment, watching the crew.

Eventually, she said, "I can't picture you ever considering assassinating anybody."

"Ha. How much gold is on the table?"

"Captain!" shouted a small voice from the crow's nest. Rhen and John both snapped to attention and looked up the mainmast to see the lookout frantically waving her arms.

"Better hop to, Captain Headbutt," said Rhen.

John signaled to the lookout to meet him on deck. He and Rhen hustled to the main deck, Rhen's stomach sinking as she speculated she might have been right.

The breathless lookout jumped from the fourth rung onto the deck and wiped sweat from her forehead. "Sir! There's land ahead, but I see no port!"

John gulped. "Uh, what did you see?"

"Mostly farmland, sir. By the curve of the land, I'd say we're headed for the northern cape."

"Oh, gods." John slapped a hand to his forehead and clenched his fingers in his curly hair.

Rhen tilted her head back and blinked up at the clear sky. _Of course._

"Sir!" called another sailor. "Will we have time to change course for the docks?"

"Uh..." John lowered his hand and looked around, seeming suddenly insecure. "You, the... the lookout. What do you think?"

"I-I'm not sure, Captain."

"All right." John clenched his fists, then made for the mainmast. As he climbed to the crow's nest, the other sailors stood around the mast and watched him, murmuring amongst themselves.

Rhen stood with them for a moment, then cursed her foolishness and clambered up the mainmast after her one-eyed friend. He was making a great show of staring through the spyglass, but Rhen knew that was useless now. She steadied herself in the crow's nest and snatched the spyglass from his hand.

"Ah, my depth perception has finally arrived." John barely tried to hide the fear in his voice.

Rhen scanned the horizon. The docks were truly nowhere to be found, spyglass or no. It was hard to judge the distance to the shore, even with two eyes, but... she knew a little geometry, and she was familiar at least with the concept of calculus. She made quick mental estimations regarding the distance and their trajectory. It all built up in her head, estimation after estimation, and then she lost all of it at once as if spilling apples from a burst basket, and in a panic, she said, "Just turn the ship south; we can make it if we try."

John looked to the deck and waved his arm. "ALL HANDS ON DECK!" he yelled. "ROUND TO AND HARDEN UP! FIND THAT HARBOR!"

Rhen flinched when she heard the orders. She hadn't considered the wind blowing in from the south--that could ruin their chances of reaching the docks altogether. Preemptive guilt spilled into her gut.

_Oh, Goddess, please don't let this ship crash..._

 

 

"At least we saved _some_ of the cargo," offered Peter, shaking seaweed from his hair.

Rhen grimaced. The skudder, thoroughly beached and soaked, was wedged far enough into the sand that she wasn't sure how they might retrieve whatever was stored belowdecks. They had to toss a great deal of cargo overboard while they struggled to turn windward, from cannonballs and gunpowder to food and medical supplies. They'd dumped the heaviest things first. A few crates littered the sand, unbroken; Rhen wasn't sure what exactly remained.

"Here I am." John plowed through the sand, his jacket slung over his shoulder, panting. "I blacked out for a bit there. Not sure what happened. I hope she's all right."

There was a tremendous _crack,_ and the skudder behind him split in two, the stern wearing onto its side and sinking into the shallows.

"Aw, come on; that was a rental!"

Rhen closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. _You have got to be kidding me._

"I hate beaching ships," grumbled John, slumping to the ground.

"Then stop beaching ships." Rhen glared at him.

He glared back. _"Oh, well I, me; we can make it if we try!"_

"I--as if this is _my_ fault!" sputtered Rhen. "You overshot that storm by _hours!_ Why didn't you turn her south again once we were clear?"

"Enough," said a firm voice behind them. Galahad, completely soaked and leaking water from his armor, slogged up behind them. His hair had escaped its ponytail, splayed across his face and neck. Water dripped from his nose.

"Sir Galahad," said John dryly. "Enjoy your swim?"

Galahad glowered at him. "This is no time for levity."

"Levity? Me? Never. I'm just impressed you didn't _sink like a stone."_

"You underestimate the strength of the Sedonan order. We are trained in--"

"No one asked," grumbled Peter.

"Is the rest of the crew all right?" demanded Rhen. "John, did you count heads?"

"Ah. Right. Um... AHOY!" yelled John as he stood up. "Stop moving! Is everybody here?"

Rhen rolled her eyes and began counting. Thirteen... ah, fifteen; a sailor emerged from the water carrying another, unconscious in their arms. Breathing deeply, Rhen pushed away her persistent guilt.

"Everyone's here," she told John.

"Good. Now--"

"We're leaving," called a sailor, leaning against the hull of the ruined skudder.

"What?"

"Signing on with you was a mistake," said another. "I, for one, don't want your money."

"Just want to get out of here, yeah," chimed in a third. They were all shouting out now, including the injured, some struck by rocks and others by the ship itself. Rhen hadn't even noticed their wounds until now. Her face burned.

"Never sailing with you again."

"Don't ever want to see his face around Brumwich, either."

"Sails like a damned pirate!"

Some of them started walking away, most likely heading for the faraway docks on foot. Some stayed to tend to their wounded fellows. John, dumbfounded, sat on a tall rock, his feet resting against a sealed crate marked with the king's crest.

Peter sat on the crate below John. "Cheer up, John. Listen. What have we got going for us right now? One, we're on the eastern continent. That's good. Two, we still have some of our cargo, and a lot of the crates are waterproof--"

"What _cargo,_ exactly?" interrupted John. "What could we _possibly_ have saved that'll net us enough money for a new ship? Did someone bring aboard a stash of precious jewels without informing me?"

"Well... we might as well check, right?" said Rhen.

John rolled his eye. "Fine." He drew his knife from his concealed jacket pocket and jumped down from the rock. "Move, Peter."

Peter helped John wrench the lid from the crate at the foot of the rock. Sunlight glinted off gold buttons and white fabric inside. John lifted one coat from the crate and held it out for Rhen to see.

"Sedonan naval uniforms," he said, his voice flat. "We rescued Sedonan naval uniforms."

"Oh," said Rhen.

"These may be useful to us in the future," offered Galahad, his tone conciliatory.

"In _what_ way?" snipped John.

"We don't yet know," replied Rhen hastily. "We should seal them back up and keep them safe."

"We can't very well _sell_ them. What else is left?"

Rhen looked back out across the wreckage. It seemed most of the surviving cargo had already been claimed by the mutineering crew. She squinted at the sparse remnants beside the ship.

"Possibly... two barrels of fish."

John groaned.

"Forget about that, John, _please,"_ said Peter. "Let's take care of what we have. Should we bury this?"

"Bury it?" snorted Galahad. John raised his eyebrows.

Peter turned pink. "Ah... like in the books. About pirates."

Rhen elbowed him in the ribs. "I _knew_ you took my adventure books when you thought I wouldn't notice."

"Well, you _didn't_ notice!"

"I've done it before, actually." John gave the crate a little kick. "Let's get the lid back on so these don't end up covered in sand. I've beached near here once or twice; I know a good place."

 

 

It took a while to hide the cargo without the aid of shovels or carts, but after about an hour of toil and sand, the crate of Sedonan uniforms was safely out of sight. They left the barrels of fish.

The sun was well on its way west by the time the four travelers trudged all the way to the docks. Peter and John didn't need to bully Rhen too much into staying at the marina inn that night. She was just as exhausted as they were. If Danny had been on the eastern continent all that time... he could wait another day. Rhen, Peter, and Galahad each had some money still on them--Galahad moreso than anyone else--so they booked the most comfortable beds, a far cry from the hammocks in which they'd slept on the boat, and ordered hot meals all around. Peter bought himself and his fellow ex-pirates a tankard of ale each. Rhen was surprised that Galahad didn't protest their underage drinking. He seemed lost in thought the past few nights, not at all like the Sir Galahad she'd met in Sedona.

Later, when they each lay awaiting sleep in soft beds, Rhen asked him about his ex-fiancee. All she got from him was a name--"Blanchefleur"--before he rolled over and ignored her outright.

The next morning, John suggested they take the carriage to the eastern docks to speak with the boat dealer. Rhen doubted the man had any information, but John was clearly anxious to secure himself a new ship, so she agreed. The trip would only add one or two extra hours to their day, especially if the driver agreed to drop them off at the Wildwoods once they were finished.

The boat dealer saw nothing of Danny, but he did have one boat which he would only relinquish should he find a wife. John viewed this as less of a deterrent and more of a mission.

The carriage driver, on the other hand, seemed grim when Rhen described Danny on their way to the Wildwoods. "I know the boy of whom you speak," he said. "I did take him to the Wildwoods about a month ago, in... _strange_ company... too cursed to discuss."

That made Rhen shiver.

John stole the driver's purse again, and they were off down the cliffs into the Wildwood valley.

They searched the forest all day, finding nothing but a hind (which they defeated with some difficulty, nearly losing their minds to its hypnotic song but snapping back to attention when the creature saw its reflection in Galahad's armor and turned instantly to stone) and an abandoned cabin (containing food and supplies, plus a little gold and some alcohol; they asked Galahad to "investigate a noise outside" before scrambling to pack as much loot as they could into their pockets and bags). Rhen hoped to find Danny among the revived statue victims or hiding out in the empty cabin, but she didn't.

Battered and shaken, the party recuperated in the tavern and agreed to spend the night there. Sitting forlorn and silent at a stained wooden table downstairs, the hodgepodge group caught the attention of a few other patrons. One in particular, an older man sporting a circle beard and a strange hat, pulled up an extra chair and sat with them before even introducing himself.

"A Sedonan paladin, a wanted pirate, and two children, all the way out here in the Wildwoods," he observed.

Rhen and Galahad barely glanced at the stranger; Peter kept his head down, and John picked at the splintering table, not bothering to counter with a correction.

"A draining day, I'd imagine," hummed the man, sympathetic. "The wild will do that to you. But my curiosity eclipses my courtesy, and I simply must ask from where you come and why."

No one answered for a moment. Uncomfortable with the awkward silence, Rhen eventually offered, "We're searching for someone. A missing boy."

"Missing in the Wildwoods... no clement fate." The man tutted. "If he's come by here, I'll have seen him. Tell me about him."

"From Clearwater," mumbled Peter, raising his head. "He's our age. Seventeen last June."

"He's got black hair and light skin like mine," said Rhen, "and he's a little bit shorter than Peter. He likes colorful sweaters and blue trousers."

"And he talks sort of slowly--no, carefully, like he's really thinking about what he's saying while he's saying it," said Peter.

"His accent is like ours. And his hands are kind of rough; he likes to climb trees and carve wood--"

"That's enough information, children," chuckled the man. "I believe I've seen this boy. Is his name Daniel?"

Rhen was taken aback. _Since when does he introduce himself as "Daniel"?_

"Yes," said Peter, "that's him."

"Then you'd better set out at dawn," warned the man, his tone suddenly serious. "The people he came with... vampires, I believe, or thralls. They'll have taken him to Ghed'ahre and begun preparing him for the pantry."

"The... pantry?" Rhen gulped.

Galahad scowled. "Vampires! You are telling these children fairy tales. What aim have you?"

"Oh, typical Sedonan paladin, never leaving home or learning about the world." The man dismissed Galahad with a wave of his hand. "There is danger ahead, and it would be foolish of you not to prepare. I have garlic and stakes for sale--" the man tilted from side to side, displaying the sharp stakes and dangling garlic braids fastened to the sides of his enormous pack "--and, as I cannot abide the thought of children entering Halloween Hills unprepared, I shall give you two of each for free, should you purchase two more."

"Done," said John, not looking up from the splinter he'd nearly peeled off of the table.

"What?" choked Galahad.

"Vampires exist, end of discussion. We're taking the deal."

"And _who_ is paying?"

"I am," said Rhen, detaching her purse from her belt. "This is my quest."

The man smiled at her. "A brave lass."

"She's a warrior," said Peter.

They paid for the garlic and stakes, and Rhen entertained the curious man's questions for a while longer before Peter recommended they get some sleep.

This inn was a little more cramped than the one at the docks. There were only two free beds: a twin in the center of the room, and a queen by the window. Galahad offered to spend the night on the floor, but John was already fast asleep on a chair by the time the paladin finished removing his armor. Rhen and Peter shared the queen.

When they finally heard Galahad snoring lightly from the twin bed, Rhen and Peter turned to face one another. Rhen gently bumped her forehead into his.

"We're going to find Danny tomorrow," she whispered, as much to convince herself as him.

"We will," he whispered back. "I just hope he's... you know."

Rhen swallowed. "I sow destruction wherever I go."

"Don't talk like that. Oh--your little braid came loose." Peter's dexterous fingers immediately began reweaving her hair.

"Thanks," Rhen sighed.

Peter smiled at her. "Danny, the ship, that deal with the king--none of those are your sole responsibility. Danny chose to leave, and John chose to sail like an ass, and... the king chose to let Sophie live, just as much as you did."

"I... suppose that's true."

"We just have to think about Danny now, and the best way to find him."

Rhen sighed again. "I'm worried about him. He's so resourceful; I always thought he could get out of anything."

"Maybe he has. Maybe he's safe, hiding somewhere."

"It's been a month, Peter. He would've escaped for home by now, if he..."

As Rhen trailed off, Peter tied in the braid and laced his fingers between hers. "This is a wide, magical world, Rhen Darzon. _You_ taught me that. Remember? No matter what, we'll find a way to save him."

Rhen closed her eyes. "No more disasters," she murmured.

"No more disasters," he agreed.


	19. Danny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you know what you wish? Are you certain what you wish is what you want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! If I'm responsible, this should be my last chapter until the new Gregorian year. (If I'm irresponsible... well, anything is possible.) This chapter puts us just over 80k - can you believe that?! - and two-thirds of the way to the end of Rhenegade. I'd like to thank @iztopher again, everyone who's been reading the fic, and everyone who's excited to read in the future. I can't believe how much this fic has evolved and how I've evolved while writing it.

He looked exactly like she remembered, silky black hair, straight nose, square jaw and all. Well, not _exactly._  The stubble on his chin was a new touch, and she thought it suited him.

They were on the boat dealer's old topsail schooner, which he sold John upon being introduced to Griselda from New Witchwood. The witch happened to be looking for a husband and was delighted to accompany Rhen's party so she could meet the boat dealer. John was relieved he could haggle the boat dealer down to accept the modest sum they'd acquired fighting bats and ravens on their trek. He was quite impressed with the schooner itself; it was small and light, double-masted with a deep draft. There wasn't much space for cargo, but it was uncommonly fast. John said the ship was "ahead of its time."

And here he was, the prize for over two weeks of frantic tracking. The reason she stole a ketch, cut down sea goblin raiders and furious orcs, honed her sword-singing skills, ran from the Sedonan guard, solved an attempted murder, spent a night in jail, befriended a brooding paladin, crashed two ships, cried in her sleep, and dodged through a vampire-riddled hellscape.

_Danny, Danny, Danny, Danny._

They sat together on a wooden bench installed beside the starboard guard-rail. The ocean lapped gently at the hull below them, ushering them northwest around the eastern isle. She knew they weren't far from land, but only the ocean was visible. At first, Rhen insisted John hug the coast to avoid the confusion that crashed their last two vessels, but Peter, unofficial keeper of the maps, assured her that nothing would go wrong if he assisted in navigation. They were a few hours into a week-long journey home.

A week on a tiny ship with Danny... Rhen was excited.

She looked at him and smiled. It took a moment to catch his attention. He was staring far out to sea, unfocused.

This worried Rhen a little. They did their best to nurse Danny back to health once they were clear of the "pantry", but something seemed _off_  from the minute they revived him. Rhen was concerned that his mind was still foggy from at least a month of enthrallment, and... all those horrific techniques the vampires must have used. She'd read of half a dozen in fiction novels, from refrigeration to hemosiphoning, but it didn't matter to her what they'd done to him when she found him on that altar. He wasn't quite dead, thank the gods; no magic in the world would've saved him if he'd lain there dead for over an hour. The cassia leaf wouldn't be enough to heal him entirely, anyway, but she would feed him and hydrate him. She'd make him warm again.

Rhen wasn't sure even Peter noticed Danny’s unusual behavior--the sadness in his voice when he first said her name, the way that he wouldn't look her in the eye anymore. What he said about not going with them, about "traveling the world." He wasn't in his right mind at all--he couldn't go out into Ghed'ahre unprotected all by himself, obviously, and he had to go _home;_  he wasn't well. Rhen was slow to protest, a little numbed by the strangeness of it all, but... oh, Goddess bless Peter, and John and Galahad. Not one of them would let Danny leave on his own. They stayed in the inn after that, taking shifts to keep an eye on him, making sure he wasn't still under the dominion of a vampire. He slept normally. Rhen checked twice to make sure he was still breathing.

The next morning, Galahad and Rhen escorted Griselda to the boat dealer's house while John and Peter hustled west to dig up the remaining cargo before catching the carriage back east. Danny was suddenly insistent upon accompanying Peter that morning. Galahad warned him against heavy lifting, and he rolled his eyes. There he was--that was Danny.

And he was going to be okay! She knew he would. They'd make him okay. He was okay enough to walk with John and Peter very early in the morning. He would be okay, and they would be phenomenal, and Rhen _definitely_  wasn't trying not to think about the fact that she would be home in a week, and that all of this chaos would be over--because that was a good thing, and she should feel good about it!

And it meant that she and Danny could be comfortable in their lives at home, and together, they could finally do all of those storybook romance things Rhen put off for so long because she was waiting for her adventure... and, well... her adventure had passed, so _now_  was the time. The time for holding hands on long walks in the apple orchard, the time for tucking wildflowers into the breast button-hole on his cardigan, the time for dreaming together about a vibrant future they could _see_  now. And if he wanted to see the world, she would show him the world.

Rhen leaned back, stretching her arms across the guard-rail. He was sitting so far away; she could barely touch his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her. His eyes seemed so... _spacey._

"What's up?" he asked.

"Oh, just... hundreds of miles of Aian sky," she hummed.

That got a small smile out of him. "It's pretty enormous, way out here."

"You must have taken a ship to the eastern isle. How was it?"

"My first time on a ship, yeah..." He nodded, thoughtful. "Wobbly. I thought I was fine when I got on, but then we were out for a couple hours and I felt I'd vomit up everything I'd eaten in the past week."

She giggled. "Oh, no!"

"Yeah. It took, I dunno, a week to reach the isle, and the weirdest thing happened... When my feet hit the docks, the land felt too _solid!"_  His eyes were wide, and he chuckled with Rhen when she laughed.

"Ha! I know what you mean!"

He gave her a full, buck-toothy grin, finally; oh, she wanted this to continue, this... normalcy. He asked, "What about you, then? Your first time on a ship?"

"Oh, it wasn't so bad," said Rhen. "The first time I remember, anyway. When the slave traders hauled me off, I must have been drugged, or in a sack, or maybe both, so... I didn't notice the ocean much then. But the first time on John's ship was great."

It took her a moment to realize he'd withdrawn again, the high peak of his parted lips shut flat. She cursed herself for carelessness. _Of course he doesn't want to hear about the kidnapping. He's not ready for that yet._

She scooted an inch closer to him on the bench and stroked his shoulder with her thumb. "Sorry, Danny. I know you don't need to hear about the whole... slavery... thing, not right now. We could talk about the--"

"No, Rhen, listen." He pushed away her hand and turned his whole body to face her, tucking one leg underneath himself. "I can handle that stuff. It's all I've thought about for the past _six months._  From what I've been hearing, it sounds like you didn't spend even half that time thinking about it yourself, did you?"

It wasn't really a question. Rhen looked down.

"The problem is the same thing that's been wedged between us for seventeen years," he continued. "I... I get on a ship and I'm terrified and sick, and it's horrible, and you get on a ship and it's fine. You're fine. It's like another day on the farm."

"Danny..."

"You've always been so different from me."

"Oh, Danny." She reached out and hugged him close, sitting on her knees. He hugged her back, very gingerly, his embrace barely more substantial than a ghost's. Rhen sighed. "That doesn't have to mean anything! I had my adventure, all right? I know I could be... distant, at home, but... I... I understand now. I want to... grow up."

"You _have_  grown up, Rhen," he murmured. He held her away, took in the sight of her. "I can really see it in your face."

"No more baby-fat chipmunk cheeks, then?"

"Heh. No, not at all."

Rhen entwined her fingers with his and leaned forward til their hands pressed against the seat of the bench. His face was inches from hers. He'd grown up, too; when she looked closer, she could see the lines beneath his eyes, the hollowness in his cheeks. His entire frame was much longer than she remembered. He was _beautiful._  He always had been. She wished so much that she'd done this years sooner, and she closed the distance between their lips.

Warmth flooded her face. He pressed in, and she knew this wasn't just her idea. The kiss was drier than she'd expected, and not as soft. His lips were a little chapped. She didn't care; she just wanted to feel it.

Sooner than she was ready to end it, it was over. Danny pulled back, haltingly but deliberately, and she was left staring into his dark eyes. Hers were wide, a little pleading (but not desperate, she hoped), asking (but not begging) for him to tell her he wanted to do that every day for the rest of forever, now that they both had forever marked free on their respective calendars. As he stared back, he couldn't help but smile a little, a close-lipped smile, pushing gentle lines into his cheeks. His eyelids fluttered. He swallowed and turned his face away.

That kiss tasted like home, like something she could crave for the rest of her life if she had to--if she _wanted_  to. But she could tell that, still, something wasn't right. Was it him? Was it _her?_

"Uh, y-you know..." she stammered, and she could feel herself losing her grip because she needed something, she needed him, she _needed this,_  "John is... is a ship's captain, and, ah... you know, a ship's captain is legally able to... m-marry--"

"Rhen." Danny stood. "Stop it."

She dug her nails into the finished wood, still looking up at his face as she felt piercing blood beneath the splinters. Her face was hot as a forge. "I--sorry; I got carried away. It's just because--"

"Seriously, please. Stop it."

_Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry._

"This isn't going to work, Rh... I'm... I'm sorry."

_No, please, please don't, please don't cry--_

"Why?" she squeaked. A teardrop slipped into the corner of her mouth.

"You've changed." His voice wouldn't betray it, but she saw his eyes glisten, too. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the sky as if it would vanish were he to look away. "I have, too."

She wanted to scream, _no, I haven't changed, you just said so yourself, I'll always be the adventurous story girl who moves too fast, I'm still not right for Clearwater but not meant to go anywhere else, you're my home, Danny, please,_  but maybe it exemplified that she truly had changed when she chose instead to stay quiet.

_Did you want to travel because you don't want to be near me?_

Danny took a deep breath. "You were never meant to marry a hometown country boy, and you know that just as well as I do."

Rhen bent at the waist, hugging her arms tight, the tip of her nose a dripping stalactite. "Please," she whispered. "I love you, I swear I do."

"When we get back to Clearwater, I... I need to leave. Don't follow me. Please." His voice cracked at the end, spilling his anguish like a broken egg yolk.

"Danny..."

"I'm sorry. It's hurting me too." His voice was barely audible. He hung his head. "I need to--I need to go."

As Danny walked away, the sobs forced themselves from Rhen's chest, overpowering her. The darkening sky swallowed them up. Danny shut the hatch to the berth deck, and Rhen's mind went blank.

 

 

Peter reached her not a minute later. He sat beside her, laid her head on his lap, and stroked her hair as she cried.

He'd known already. Peter always knew.

 

 

John found them later, after all of the light had vanished from the sky. She was asleep, draped over Peter's lap. They exchanged glances, but neither spoke before they carried her together, careful not to wake her, into the captain's cabin. They laid her on John's bed. Peter left to sleep in the berth deck. An hour later, John was snoring gently in his armchair.

 

 

When she awoke the next morning, sniffly and a little dehydrated, she asked John to close all the drapes in the captain's cabin. She went back to sleep.

 

 

She stayed there for most of the next week. She couldn't really tell when the days ended or began. Peter, John, and even Galahad came in and sat with her when they were able, but she preferred to sleep. It was easier not to think about anything real.

 

 

"I... I must confess that my situation was not unlike yours."

"You mean with Blanchefleur?"

"Yes. She left me in the midst of our engagement, whereas I believed our relationship to be stronger than the pull of time."

"Your love?"

"I... I'm sorry?"

"You believed your love to be stronger than the pull of time?"

"Ah... yes, that's... I did mean that."

"Why did she leave you?"

"Because I was stubborn. A mining cart inseparable from its rails. That's what she called me."

"Stubborn about what?"

"She told me that I... lied to myself about what I wanted, and pursued it without critical thought. I knew exactly how our life together should look. I... I thought I knew exactly how _my_  life should look, and that my story was meant to... that I was meant to marry her, and that it should happen then, and... it is... difficult for me to say, as I did not fully understand what she told me. When she left."

"But surely you wanted to marry her."

"She thought otherwise."

"How did you meet?"

"I met her when we were very young. I was merely an orphan at the monastery, not yet in training. Her father, Sir Lancelot, was the one who requested me for squirehood and eventual initiation in the Order. He sponsored me through the training, and she was there, watching me every step of the way, for many years."

"Did you love her at first sight?"

"I... no, I... do not believe so."

"Then you fell in love growing up together?"

"It--I... we did, yes."

"So you wanted to marry her because you loved her."

"Of course."

"Why is that stubborn?"

"I... ah... my lady... I know a couple of jokes about Roquefort you will find amusing."

 

 

She'd stolen a book from the abandoned house in the Wildwoods, something about waterfall ecology. Reading it seemed a better pastime than drowning in her psyche. When she opened it, a portrait fell from the pages--a woman, drawn in pen and watercolor, with golden hair and lilac eyes. Her long smile and narrowed eyes suggested spirit behind her beauty. Something about the portrait made Rhen shiver. She tucked it back into the book and set it aside. Later, she’d look at it again. And again.

 

 

"I don't know how I can go back home like this. We've touched every tree together, you know? Every stone by the waterfall. He's in everything."

"You've touched them with me, too, you know. I'm in them."

"He's just screaming so much louder in my head. Louder than anything else. It's like I can barely hear you."

"Then I'll be right in your ear until you can hear the birds again."

 

 

Danny asked to see her one evening. Rhen's ears rang with the sound of Galahad shouting him away. She cried on page sixty-seven of _The Ecological Implications of the Waterfall,_ smudging the paragraph about Gerridae in spring.

 

 

"You don't have to be in here all the time. You have a whole ship to captain."

"Yes. I do."

 

 

"All right. You have to get up now."

Rhen rubbed her eyes. "What day is it?"

"Saturday," responded John. Rhen peered up at him; his eye looked a little bloodshot. Had he slept at all?

"It's the weekend? What do I need to get up for, then?"

"We're here."

It took Rhen a moment to recall where they were going in the first place. "Um... the eastern docks, right?"

"Yeah. You need anything? Need me to leave so you can get dressed?"

"No, I... slept in my clothes again."

"All right. Everyone else has already disembarked. I think Galahad found a carriage driver who takes the route through the highlands. He wanted me to tell you he's going to spend the night in Clearwater before heading home to Sedona." John shoved his hands into his coat pockets and rummaged around. "If you want breakfast, I think I saved you a sausage patty--"

"I'm all right, thanks," she said quickly. She wormed out of bed and ran her fingers through her hair. "Ugh. Some fresh water would be nice, and Galahad can tell me things himself. Where's my sword?"

"I put it over there. I guess you won't be needing it much anymore, huh."

Rhen furrowed her brow. "I... guess not."

She grabbed her things and headed out into the sun. Oh, that did _not_  feel good on her eyes. She scrunched them shut.

"John-n-n-n."

He turned back to look at her. "Ah! Well, now you know how it feels."

At that, she cracked a smile. She squinted one eye open to look at him. "Come on; you can still see."

A grin swept across John's face, crinkling the skin below his eye. "Heh... yes. But I wanted to make you smile one more time."

Rhen halted. Her expression, slow to fade, grew stiff and uncomfortable to wear.

His own began to falter. "Come on, vi; did you forget Peter and Danny aren't the only ones going home today?"

She suddenly found it very hard to breathe. "No, but... you... you're not..."

"I don't live in Clearwater, violet," John said as gently as he possibly could.

Rhen remembered exactly what it was that, seven days ago, she'd been trying so, so desperately to forget.

"John," she whispered.

"Please don't make this harder," he murmured back.

They stood there for a minute, and she felt her body swaying in place, throbbing with hunger and dehydration, a little dizzy; she had to concentrate to keep herself from falling over. She could barely handle this prospect the first time she came home. Now, it was really happening.

John was leaving.

Rhen might never see him again.

There was no dignified transition through silent weeping this time. She was a glass, toppled, shattering in slow motion upon a jagged stone floor. Her knees gave out, she hit the deck, and she wailed.

He knelt beside her. She realized through her own tears that she'd never seen him cry before; here was proof that he could, that there were times when even he lost his persistent levity. Wiping the tears and snot from her face, she did everything she could to calm the hyperventilation. It _hurt_  to look at him, but she had to; she knew this was the last she'd ever see of Pirate John. His eyebrows furrowed low on his forehead, and he swallowed.

"I am going to see you again, Rhen Darzon."

Rhen launched herself at John and squeezed him as tight as she could; for how long, only the gods knew.

 

 

"Rhen, sweetheart... Peter just told me about Danny. I'm so sorry. Your father and I really wanted to talk to you about something this evening; are you going to feel up for that?"

"No, Ma. I'm sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought I was going to leave you with something nice while I'm away.


	20. Fairies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do believe in fairies; I do, I do!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for alcohol abuse.

It was a short dream, but it wasn't one he'd forget anytime soon.

All he could see around him was a raging blizzard. His legs were a foot deep in snow. Although he saw the blustering whiteness, he could neither hear nor feel it. Standing across from him, hovering just over the unbroken snow at her feet, was the Oracle.

They stared at one another for a long moment.

They stared.

She stared.

And stared.

Finally, she said, "Ill-fitting behavior for a Prophet."

He woke up.

 

 

He wished he hadn't. Sunlight wasn't treating him well these days. He wondered how Te'ijal could stand it.

Lars' ears rang with the sound of the shrieking nightingale, not two feet aft of his head, its blanket thrown askew by the rocking of the sloop, and he wondered yet again what on Aia could have possessed him to bring the wretched thing aboard. He must've put up quite a fight indeed, as not one of his traveling companions wanted it there, but they all seemed a touch afraid to contest the matter with him.

There was only one deck on this horrid little vessel, and no cabin, so Elini had the idea to pitch their tent near the bow. Only she and Lars fit inside, which was fine; Dameon never wanted to sleep in it and adamantly refused to allow Te'ijal entry. Armaiti was content to spend their time in the unbound ocean air.

Elini's bedroll was already cold. Lars, who slept on the far side of the tent, rummaged through his pack to find the hidden pocket within the largest hold. He had about half a bottle of whiskey left, and he hadn't dared bring another for fear of a companion's keen ear discerning the sound of two bottles clinking as Lars moved. Of course he knew he shouldn't have brought any at all, and that they would be upset were they to discover the bottle he'd stashed, but... well, he did it anyway. He eyed the bottle for a moment, struggling to recall how much he'd rationed himself for the day, before giving up and taking a hearty swig, just enough to sand the edge off of the morning. No sooner was the bottle away than the tent door flapped open.

It was Dameon. "We've arrived," he said.

"Thanks." Lars grimaced. "Must've slept in. What time is it?"

"Mm..." Dameon glanced at the sky. "Early afternoon."

"Less than three days on the ocean, then. Not bad."

"I'll say." Dameon chuckled and squatted in the entrance, letting the tent flap brush his arm. "The sky is beautiful out here, but I much prefer solid ground."

Lars blinked; dazzled momentarily by the sunlight glinting off Dameon's circlet, perhaps. "Right... are we headed straight for Aveyond, then?"

"Actually, I want to take care of some business in the west if we can." Dameon's voice grew serious. "The earthquakes and extreme weather in the forest may indicate the influence of another demon. We should travel west this evening and stay the night in Thornkeep."

"Another demon, huh?"

"Possibly. I'm not yet certain, but it's best to investigate as long as we have the opportunity."

"If you say so."

"You should get dressed."

Lars started and couldn't help the color racing through his cheeks. _Right._

"We'll go ahead and dock the boat. There's some muenster and bread left for you on the bench." Dameon rose back up and fastened the tent door on his way out.

It felt a hundred degrees in that tent, even docked at the frozen northern isle. Lars wished he knew a spell to soothe a burn of the psyche. Blushing never looked good on him.

_Relax, dung-head. They've all seen you in your underclothes at least a dozen times each. It's not like he caught you... drinking._

Lars' head felt muddled with self-conscious uncertainty. Something about Dameon hovering in the entrance set his pulse hammering; was it the fear of being caught? It wasn't clear. He squeezed his eyes shut as if that would silence the droning. Ah, wait; that was the bird. He tugged the blanket back over the cage and rose to dress.

It only occurred to him once he was back on solid land that the Oracle had referred to him as a "Prophet."

 

 

The earthquakes and weather weren't caused by a demon, but by the petty quarreling of the Mountain King and Snow Queen, as per the testimony of the populace of Thornkeep--but of course _"we can't just leave these people to suffer without our aid,"_ to which Lars responded, _"sure, it's far more generous to MAKE them suffer WITH our aid,"_ but only in his head.

He chugged a little more apple juice before they went to meet with the king.

"AND I TOLD HER THAT THEY ARE NOT REAL! I TOLD HER LOUDLY AND CLEARLY, AND STILL SHE WILL NOT LISTEN!"

"Mhm." Dameon's eyes glazed over after about the seventh minute of this, but still he nodded, hand pensively grasping his chin.

"I CANNOT BELIEVE THE FOLLY OF MY OWN WIFE! TO THINK WE HAVE BEEN WED ALL THESE YEARS, SHE TO A RATIONAL, I TO A FOOL!"

Elini yawned.

"I AM EVEN, AT THIS JUNCTURE, UNCERTAIN AS TO WHETHER WE MAY CONTINUE OUR JOINT RULE, OR IF WE MUST... _SEPARATE!_ I, THE MOUNTAIN KING, SEPARATED FROM SHE, THE SNOW QUEEN, A PAIR OF EYES PLUCKED FROM THE VERY SKULL OF THE HIGH DIVINE TO SERVE, PARALLEL, IN HARMONY! SIMPLY BECAUSE SHE CANNOT, _WILL_ NOT, ADMIT THE FALLACY OF HER INANE BELIEFS!"

Lars rubbed his eyes. "Hang on. Which beliefs are those, one more time?"

"THE WOMAN BELIEVES IN _FAIRIES!_ OF ALL THE--"

"But fairies exist!" Lars blurted.

The silence which then pervaded the cavern seemed most unnatural.

"Lars--" began Dameon.

"No, hang on, shut up, they do." Lars held out a hand at which Dameon twitched back. "They're perfectly real. You're actually getting mad about _this?"_

"WHY... YOU IMPERTINENT...!"

"Lars, please, we have no evidence of this," said Dameon politely but hastily, pushing Lars' hand away.

"I have _literally seen_ fairies!" Lars' volume rose with his frustration. Oh, this was probably not a good idea. He didn't care. "In Aveyond! With my own eyes!"

"HA!" The Mountain King glared down at Lars. "YOU ARE AS UNWISE AS SHE. I SHALL YIELD NO QUARTER UNTIL I SEE A FAIRY BEFORE ME, WITH _MY_ OWN EYES."

"Fine!" Lars yelled. "We'll get you one!"

He turned heel and marched from the cave. Dameon, gaping, took a moment before running after him.

"You--"

"We're getting the stupid man a fairy when we drop Armaiti off in Aveyond," growled Lars. He couldn't see the expression on his own face, but he was satisfied when Dameon backed off, eyes uncharacteristically wide, perhaps a little afraid.

_Good._

Dameon maintained a bewildered expression for the rest of the night, his brow a little higher than normal. Lars kept an eye on the priest throughout their evening at the tavern. There was no real reason, no cause for close surveillance, but his gaze always wandered back to Dameon. The slight parting and pursing of his lips, Lars thought idly, made his mouth look not unlike the seam of a ripe, plump peach. Absent-minded, Lars chewed upon the rim of his cider flagon, which was fragrant with undeclared whiskey.

Te'ijal had to drag him inside at nearly midnight when she found him lying on his back in the snow. "Snow," he told her, "is fantastic. The ground is storing its own water, one on top of the 'nother!"

 

 

In the morning, the five travelers packed their things and left for Aveyond in the midst of the raging blizzard.

Noon had yet to rise by the time they parted with Armaiti at the sun shrine. Lars felt fine. He had discovered that, if he imbibed small amounts of whiskey alongside regular sips of water over the course of a night, he would wake up mildly buzzed without hanging over. Regrettably, this meant the bottle, currently tucked into the loops on his innermost belt, was closer to empty than before.

Lars felt troubled at the temple, a stoic, physical reminder of the gravity of his quest. He knew even without seeing her that he couldn't look at Talia at all. She reminded him, unintentionally, of what a useless, self-centered child he was, out of place in a world that needed a hero. She was his shame.

Instead, he sought Devin. He removed the signet ring from his pocket and held it out. They locked eyes.

"Tailor wants you to know that he's sorry," murmured Lars.

Devin placed his hand over the ring, curling Lars' fingers around it. "Tailor should know he has nothing to be sorry for," he said.

Lars' throat stopped up as he stuffed the ring back into his pocket. He stared at Devin, setting his jaw, trying to close himself off. It was no use.

"You're a liar," he whispered. "I never cared about this."

"No, but you do now."

He let Devin stand with him, then, as he hung his head and squeezed the perplexity from his eyes.

It seemed there was no avoiding Talia. She emerged from the eastern staircase and, seeing him with Devin, she walked up behind Lars and placed her hand on his shoulder. She felt warm and relaxed behind him, but a little insistent in her grip.

"Lars," she said. He turned around to face her and was surprised when she swept him into her arms.

"Talia," he replied.

"It's so good to see you," she said, muffled by his shoulder. "You've made a sorcerer of yourself, haven't you?"

Lars nodded.

She pulled away. "Where is Rhen?"

"We haven't found her yet. It seems we were right on her tail."

"You've done a fine job tracking her, then, and after all, you've brought us another druid." Talia smiled, determination in her stare. "I'm pro--..."

She stopped in mid-sentence, her sight drifting into the distance behind him. He knew without looking that Dameon was glaring at his mother from across the room, and would not speak. _This again._

"How is he?" asked Talia, her voice hushed.

"Great."

"He's always been quick to make friends. Has he taught you well?"

"I've learned a lot."

"Wonderful." She smiled again, and Lars exhaled. _Fine; that's... fine. That's all I wanted._

Behind them, Elini had already whisked Devin away for a (chaste) conversation. Te'ijal and Rashnu stood in the corner together like old friends, and Dameon joined the other druids to speak by the altar. Talia and Lars were left on their own.

Or, not quite on their own.

_"This isn't Rhen's quest alone anymore, Prophet."_

Lars shivered. He really hoped she would stop doing that.

"What's your plan from here?" asked Talia, jolting Lars back out of his head.

"Oh, right.... Um, there have been earthquakes and blizzards to the west, where Thornkeep is, because the Mountain King and Snow Queen have been fighting, and we--Dameon thought we should take care of that before moving on."

"The Snow Queen..." Talia nodded her head, thoughtful. "If I recall correctly, her palace guards the Temple of Wisdom." (Lars snorted at the irony.) "She'll never grant you passage if she's in a foul mood, but solving these blizzards may kill two birds with one stone."

The nightingale squawked.

"Where _did_ you get a nightingale?"

"Haven't a clue. If Daena's a statue as well, rescuing her shouldn't take long."

"Where will you go after that?"

"I..." Lars swallowed. He'd completely lost Rhen's trail when she left Sedona. His imagination, addled with alcohol and stress, couldn't conjure a single idea. "Well... I should consult with my team."

Talia grasped his hand. "Don't give up, Lars. You're going to find her."

He couldn't think of anything hopeful to say, so he just nodded.

"I'll convey your story to the Oracle when she returns to Aveyond. Do you have any other messages you wish me to tell her?"

Lars looked down at his feet, unsettled. "No, I... I think she knows enough."

"Lars!" called Dameon, who stood with Te'ijal and Elini near the door. "Come on; we're having a lesson."

_What, now?_

"I'll speak with you again soon," said Talia. Lars smiled blandly and headed outside.

 

 

The sun made him feel fuzzy, so he took another shot.

At least one of his teammates noticed that time, but no one said a thing. Lars wore his inebriation defiantly. They walked south toward an empty, grassy patch where the ground peaked into a soft hill. Te'ijal and Elini sat to the side with the equipment and the nightingale as Dameon hiked the center.

"Go ahead and stretch, Lars," he said, cracking his own neck. "We're going to be active for this one."

"Yes, O enlightened master." Lars rolled out his shoulders and turned around. His usual stretches were difficult in his new robes, and it felt... awkward, _embarrassing,_ to warm up face to face with Dameon, somehow. Whatever. He loosened his muscles limb by limb, slowly, and turned back around.

Dameon was...

Well, he certainly wasn't stretching now. He'd already removed the fasteners from his robes and cast them aside. The cloth hung loose about his chest, its draped neckline drooping lower and lower. No pacifist monk had any business sporting musculature like that which Lars glimpsed through Dameon's vestments. Dameon deftly unwrapped the top half of his robes and pinned them to the bottom, revealing bronze skin, slick and glossy, over smooth, defined pectorals and a rigid abdomen, _oh holy Goddess--_

The thought crossed Lars' mind that Dameon should wear those robes like that more often, and he plucked it out of his head, tossed it down the hill, and refused to watch it roll away.

"All stretched up?" asked Dameon. Lars was too slow to respond. "Let's begin."

Dameon lowered into a loose defensive stance, his lean arms raised slightly. Lars' eyes looped over Dameon's deltoids, biceps, forearms, back along those triceps... He struggled to break his gaze, stuck in place _almost_ against his will.

"What are we doing, then?" he said eventually.

"We never had our lesson about healing magic," explained Dameon, "so we'll be working hands-on with it today."

_Hands-on._

"Got it."

"So hit me."

"Uh... what?"

"Hit me. Give me a wound I can heal."

"Wh--" Lars stammered. "Are you... are you _serious?"_

"How do you expect to learn how to heal without injuries to practice on?" Dameon never sounded impatient, but Lars could see, now, the twitching in his tensed muscles.

They stared one another down for a moment, Lars once again distracted.

Eventually, Dameon sighed. "Fine. Elini?"

Elini hopped to her feet. She drew her whip as she sauntered before Dameon. "All right."

Te'ijal's eyes grew huge. "Wait, I also wish to hel--"

"Go!"

Elini's whip lashed out, more gently than Lars knew it could, and slapped itself around Dameon's upper arm. It tightened before she snatched it back. Dameon winced; the studded whip left a hideous red band on his arm, although it didn't draw blood. Lars moved a little closer so he could see clearly, ignoring as best he could the accelerated pace of his heart at the propinquity of Dameon's chest. Dameon motioned for him to come even closer, and Lars did, hoping the heat wasn't pouring off him in waves.

"All right; look closely. Light magic techniques are vastly different from what you've been practicing so far. You've been expelling energy you already have inside you--that's typical of sorcery--but that doesn't work for light magic. Here, we have to take the energy from the pain and draw it _in."_

As he finished speaking, his hand peaked over the injury on his arm, and Lars watched as light drew away into his palm. In seconds, the welt on Dameon's arm was completely gone.

Dazed, Lars blinked. "Drawing energy inward? What, like... like the difference between whistling out and in?"

_That was stupid, Lars; please stop talking--_

Dameon's chest danced as he chuckled. Oh, Lars knew he was red now.

"It's actually pretty similar. I hadn't thought of that. You ready to try?"

Lars nodded.

"Great. Elini, give me another."

This time, she just bruised him with the butt of the whip, giving Lars something easy to work with. He approached again and examined the bruise, trying to find the energy in it. He bit his lip. This was... hard, and he couldn't think clearly at all. He didn't know why he did it--in truth, most of his actions of late seemed performed by some other agent in his body, Lars nothing but a bemused observer himself--but he pushed outward at the wound just as he had at his own cut in the winery. Nothing appeared to happen, but Dameon cringed.

"Draw _in,_ Lars."

Lars grit his teeth. _I know, I know. Maybe it's easy for you, but not all of us spend our lives taking in all the pain and bottling it up rather than pushing it out--_

_"Ow!"_

Dameon glared at Lars, and Lars glared at Dameon.

"You can't heal when you're like this," snipped Dameon, his brow set in pain. The bruise on his arm was at least three times larger.

Lars felt the heat of shame return to his face to mingle with the warmth of intoxication and the fever of... whatever. He turned away.

"When I'm like _what?"_

Dameon didn't answer that.

Lars' cloak swished behind him as he stormed away from the clearing. "Put a shirt on. We're going to find a fairy."

He didn't wait for his party to scramble after him as he marched toward the closest spot where he'd seen one. It was further to the south in a winding gorge--he remembered the exact tree, the exact toadstool--and he stood there, glaring about, watching for movement. There--a glimmer, further in. He jogged between the cliffs until he reached a dead end set with a single cave entrance. His teammates were still several bends behind him, so he spent a moment listening closely to the echoes emanating from the cave. Between the dripping water and the croaking frogs, he heard giggling.

That was enough evidence for him. He waited til Dameon rounded the last corner; then, he went inside. He paused for a moment by the entry, trying as hard as he could to determine from whence the noises came, but the laughter bounced between the crystal walls and lost its origin long before reaching Lars' ears.

The nightingale shrilled the instant Te'ijal carried it into the cave. Elini sighed.

"Lars, this is the chase of a madman. Is it not better to reason with this Queen of Snow?"

"That'll never work," said Dameon, resigned. "But I'm not sure this will, either."

The nightingale's wings beat furiously against the edge of its cage, its chirping strangled and quick. Lars glanced at it. He didn't think. He wrenched open the cage door, and the nightingale sped down the cave, and he sped after it.

The bird led him through passage after passage, never doubling back. Elini shouted when it flew outside, but it seemed not to realize that it was no longer bound by walls or ceilings, zooming straight through to the next cavern. Lars' eyes blurred, his vision tunneling. He barely noticed as he hurtled through the final exit onto the grounds of the Temple of Time.

The nightingale alit on the stone ground and twittered happily as it was swarmed by a flock of sparkling, iridescent, mirthful fairies.

With a heaving exhale, Lars dropped to his knees.

_I knew I was right._

Dameon, Elini, and Te'ijal caught up to him within a minute. The vampress helped him to his feet again as Dameon, eyebrows raised, surveyed the temple grounds.

"Well... I'll be flayed," he murmured, tugging his left sleeve up his shoulder.

"I have never imagined such a thing," breathed Elini, hand on her chest. "Lars, you have yet again impressed me with your worldliness!"

He could've snorted. Instead, he swept his arms out and said, "Tah-dah."

"We shouldn't doubt you again," conceded Dameon. "But the Mountain King won't leave his castle just to see this."

Little stars burst in Lars' eyes. He was so exhausted. He wanted this to be someone else's problem for a little while, but he knew that would never happen.

"Perhaps we might entreat one of these creatures to accompany us to--ouch!" Te'ijal hissed as a fairy pinched her. She swatted it away.

"I don't think so," said Dameon, rubbing his forehead. A fairy approached him on either side, each trying to tug down a shoulder of his robes.

"We need to capture one," ordered Elini, whose whip slowly unfurled at her belt as if of its own volition.

"Capture one? These are sentient creatures, my lady; that would be unethical!"

"We shall release it immediately-- _ow!"_

"As she says, we must only keep it until the blizzards have stopped! Wait, where is my--"

Lars couldn't take it anymore. He snatched his quarter-full whiskey bottle from his belt, uncorked it, and began to chug. The rest of the party watched in stunned silence as he drained the bottle in its entirety. Lars' throat was flushed with burning alcohol; he could feel it slosh unpleasantly into his gut.

He only pulled his lips away when the bottle was empty. He shook a drop onto the floor. Then, he plucked a fairy from Dameon's shoulder, stuffed it inside the bottle, and corked it shut.

Wobbling on one leg just a bit, Lars summoned the last of his sobriety to stare Dameon hard in the eye. He handed the bottled fairy to the druid and made for the exit, wiping whiskey from his mouth.


	21. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That could never be the end of her story.

 

_"Peter! Keep loose."_

_"I thought we talked about commentary from the sidelines, chatterbox."_

_"What, you want some advice, too, Danny? You've feinted the same way last three tournaments; switch it up a bit."_

_"Oh, Lavender... Awful lot of confidence for a girl who learned all her moves from adventure books!"_

_"And from winning the last nine straight matches, square! Who invited June, anyway?"_

_"She's got nothing better to do, I'll reckon. Mum took her carving tools after what she did to the dining room table."_

_"Get on with the fight! I'm bored."_

 

 

Rhen kept her head down on the table, avoiding the spots she knew from experience were too splintered to touch. She couldn't believe she'd only been home one night. It felt like days, and days... and days.

She didn't know what to do anymore. Her childhood was over. But what, exactly, had she intended to do at the dawn of her adult life, before she'd been kidnapped? Work for Dyonna? Perform her family's labor on the Darzon terrace farms? Take up the intrepid mantle of a Clearwater apple orchardist? Marry Danny?

Dyonna found an apprentice months ago. There would be no marrying Danny. And now, if what her parents told her was true, she wasn't even a Darzon.

No, they called her _Pendragon,_ and a princess, and the one prophesied to save the world. She laughed in their faces--they had no proof!--and she laughed and laughed more and laughed even more until she was in hysterics, screeches ripping from her throat and tears pouring down her cheeks. They were _taunting_ her. Her clenched fists were still blistering red where they'd slammed into the table, over and over.

How could she care about anything anymore? How could she believe?

Rhen's chest was shaking, but her lungs were out of howls, her eyes out of brine. Her parents had left her to sit alone a while ago, perhaps an hour, and she hadn't moved but to hide her face against the uncompromising wood. Everyone _left_ her, even the people who'd brought her up from birth. This chair, she thought, might be where she spent the last of her days. She couldn't imagine moving, leaving, doing, achieving, belonging.

Well... that wasn't entirely true.

When she thought of sailing, she felt strong again. She thought of Peter, John, even Galahad--her crew. John came to her at a terrible time in her life, it was true, but also at the best possible time, and the impact he'd had on her felt _real,_ organic, like the setting of a limb left too long out of alignment, like she was returning--to something. And when she closed her eyes, when she thought of the place she was meant to be, she saw smooth timber, white linen, and an endless expanse of grey waters too bitter and alive to ever be described as crystalline.

She saw herself moving, leaving. She saw herself doing anything, everything to thrive on that ship, in that ocean. She saw the vessels, the lands, the people who would pass around and through her, the personal heights she could attain with the world laid out like a tome. She saw herself, with the ocean, and with her crew.

She felt herself dancing. She wasn't sure whether she swayed in her mind or with her feet on the ground, and she didn't bother opening her eyes to look. She felt sick when she was still.

When her arm bumped into a wall, she realized she had, in fact, stood and danced. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked down before her. She'd traveled the short distance to her room, where her indigo shirt and Sedonan sword lay in a careless heap upon the floor. The shirt ought to be washed, she thought... but without exerting much control over her own movements, she shut her bedroom door quietly and began changing out of her dress and back into her seafaring outfit. It was comfortable. It smelled like the sea, and the ship, and her friends.

With red eyes, Rhen glanced idly at her mirror. Her short hair looked better over this getup, anyway; not that she especially cared now. Had she ever?

She wrapped a handful of the shirt around her fist as she looked around the room. What was all of this stuff? What was she doing here in this room, where some other girl lived, among these books she could hardly remember, these stiff, gaudy costumes, this overstuffed bed? She dug her other hand into the fabric of her shirt and wound it, then brought it to her face as she felt the tears sting her nose once more. She sniffed, then she took a deeper breath. There wasn't much to smell as she still smelled the same as the shirt, but the sameness was enough to slow her heart.

_I shouldn't be here._

Her pack was still full. She grabbed it.

_If I'm not a Darzon anyway..._

She strapped her scabbard to her belt.

_...I don't belong here._

Without looking back, she plowed through the front door of the house and marched past the gate.

Rhen didn't care who saw. Her parents--the Darzons--were busy on the farm, anyway, and no one else would stop her. Even those two probably wouldn't keep her from leaving with a sword at her back. That was all they'd raised her for, after all; cutting down some demon and reviving a kingdom she'd never even seen. She trotted down the upper staircase, then sped, jogging through the town square, breaking into a run, her pack nearly sliding off her shoulder to collide with the bare maypole. Down the second staircase. Past Peter.

She stopped, swallowed, turned around. "Peter."

He seemed to be packed, as well.

He was sitting in his usual spot in the evergreens, chin in his hands. The soft wind fluffed his red hair like a pillow. He stared at her with a look of grim resignation.

"You too, then?"

"Yeah. Me too."

"I should've expected as much." Peter chuckled, his voice drained. "I thought moving you about would be a bad idea right now."

"So you were going to leave me?"

"You were going to leave me, too."

Rhen swallowed. Fits of melancholy protagonism were normally her domain alone. This was new behavior for Peter.

"Where are you going to go?" she asked eventually.

"I was thinking of Sedona, but I still don't have an access card, so I'm not sure. You?"

"I..." _I figured I'd go back to the docks, but... now that I think of it, he's probably already...._

"My lady."

Rhen and Peter glanced behind at the stairs into town. Here, of course, came Galahad.

"Galahad." Rhen's voice was a little rough.

"I see you intend to leave Clearwater once more."

"Yes, I... yes."

"I know now it would be foolish to try and stop you." Galahad halted a respectful few feet away before dropping somberly to his knee. "It seems my pledge to protect you on your journey is not yet fulfilled. I will accompany you wherever you are thus forth meant to be."

"Um..." Rhen grimaced. "I thought I'd proven to you by now that I don't need protection."

He stood and met her gaze, this time looking down on her from his considerable height, snowy eyes gentle. "I commend the strength of your arm, sword maiden, but I fear young hearts make rash decisions which may pose more danger than any threat in battle."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure you could be more condescending."

"Do you think it's rash to leave?" mumbled Rhen, almost to herself.

"I understand why you are leaving," Galahad murmured back.

"Why did you come to Clearwater with me, anyway? I thought you were supervising John."

Galahad closed his eyes. "John is an adequate sailor, and... a man of his word. He will honor his contract in a manner suitable to the crown."

"Rhen," said Peter, his voice tinged with urgency. "Do you... do you think it's too late to find him at the docks? John?"

"It is likely too late," said Galahad when Rhen didn't respond.

"I guess he sailed away yesterday evening," Peter sighed. "It's not as if it's safe to leave a ship docked in that place overnight."

"No," whispered Rhen suddenly, her eyes widening.

"My lady?"

"You can't. You can't sail a ship... with just one person."

"Rhen, what--"

"Two people... sure." She smiled suddenly, slowly. "Not one."

Peter and Galahad, stunned into silence, exchanged bewildered glances. She giggled with the breathless exertion of a girl who'd just won a race to the top of the tallest redwood in the highlands.

"He's still there, but we have to hurry. Come on."

 

 

They made quick work of the mountains. Rhen's energy skyrocketed as soon as Clearwater vanished into the cliffs behind them. She crowed as she cut down an enchanted tree, barely aided by Galahad or Peter. Her enthusiasm troubled Galahad, who finally resumed scowling not long after Rhen ignored his requests to be quieter. Peter, on the other hand, was easily caught in her whirlwind of high spirits, as he usually was. The invigorated pair linked arms as they traversed the last cave to the valley.

"Look at you, back in action!" Peter grinned down at Rhen.

"At us, you mean!"

"You look so much happier, you know."

"I..." Rhen stopped speaking for a moment just to smile, her lips parted as if they couldn't contain her joy. "Okay, maybe this is a little weird, considering... you know."

"Considering Danny?"

Unfazed, she said, "Yeah, considering that. Look... I thought about it, and I know what Danny meant, and I can't _say_ this to him, so... will you hear it?"

"Tell me."

She took a deep breath. "Once, I was a country girl destined to marry a country boy, convinced I was meant to be a grand adventurer, but... now, I think I'm an adventurer who's been convinced I'm destined to marry a country boy. I've always lived two lives; the one in my head, and the one on my shoulders. I can't do it anymore. And... this is it." She gazed up at Peter with confidence, burying all nagging consideration of what she'd learned that morning. "This is the life I choose."

Peter's chin wobbled a little bit as he smiled down. "I'm proud of you, Rhen."

"Look out!" shouted Galahad, pointing at a tree, and before Peter could react, he was in the clutch of a massive ravwyrn.

The bird dug its talons into Peter's shoulders, and he grit his teeth against a cry of pain. Rhen panicked--the longsword she wielded had none of the flexibility of her old rapier, so it would be impossible to harm the beast with its body shielded by Peter. Her eyes darted left and right, searching for a way to save him.

But even with his arms pinned, Peter was wily. He pinched the bird's thigh near what might have been a major artery, and his guess paid off; the bird careened back, shrieking in pain. Quick as a whip, Peter drew his knife and spun to face his adversary.

Marveling, Rhen lowered her sword. He could do this. She saw it in his feet--but he was tense, too tense, and he would get caught again if he remained in that stance.

"Peter!" she shouted.

He glanced back at her briefly.

"Keep loose."

His limbs melted like ice in April, and he swung under the bird's wing, dodged its counter, and stabbed. It shut its eyes to wail, and Peter's knife met the underside of its jaw. The forest was silent again.

Rhen grinned as she helped him out from beneath the ravwyrn's collapsing wing. It seemed she wasn't the only one unlocking hidden talents on their journeys.

Peter breathed as deeply as he could, a startled smile dispelling nerves from his face. He stowed his knife and stretched his hands. "I did that."

"You did!" Rhen exclaimed.

"Goddess... wow."

Her sword now sheathed, Rhen hugged Peter tight for a moment. When they let go of one another, she was still grinning. "I'm proud of you, too, Peter."

Galahad, who was cutting down a second ravwyrn just beside the path ahead, finished his butchery and turned to them. "We should pay attention to the road until we are far from the highlands," he warned, irritation mingling with the concern in his tone.

Rhen rolled her eyes. "Nothing here can harm us."

"My la--!" Galahad cut himself off, visibly trying to repress a snarl, and exhaled. "The fewer battles in which we engage, the safer, and the _quicker_ we may reach the docks."

"You have a point there," mused Peter.

Rhen winced. The thought of missing John at the docks, the thought that he would pick up another crew, or even just another Skip Townsley... it bubbled in her gut like week-old stew. "You're right. Let's make haste."

She and Peter remained silent from then on, conserving their breath for the steady canter they maintained through the southern pass. When Rhen saw the first of the flat farmland beyond the mountains, she felt her heart leap. When she saw the barest outline of a tall mast, purple in the haze of distance, she felt it again. He could be there. He _must_ be there. She _knew_ he was still there.

That tall mast didn't belong to his ship, for certain; the schooner was much smaller than that. Rhen strained her eyes squinting at the horizon, trying as hard as she could to catch a glimpse of what else was docked to the east. Her vision grew watery until she could barely tell foreground from back. They reached the summit of the last hill, and the buildings at the pier rose above the docks until even the tip of that tall mast could no longer be seen. Frustrated, she cursed and ran down the hill.

She slid onto the pier by way of a sandy back alley and crashed carelessly through the discarded marina waste. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, driving her like it held the reins constricting her throat. Breath squeezed through the tight space only with valiant effort. Suddenly, she felt all too certain he _wouldn't_ be there, and then she really wouldn't know what to do, blinking like a babe in the light as she emerged from the space between a tavern and the harbormaster's office--

Right across from the tavern, bobbing gently in the clement waters of the shore, was John's schooner.

Rhen charged to the schooner and, finding no gangplank, leapt aboard and tumbled gracelessly onto the deck. At the same moment, the door to the tavern swung open and, with a shout, a man was shoved out by half a dozen hands, only to bang his chin as he landed in a rumpled heap on the boardwalk.

"Oof!"

Rhen scrambled to her feet and dashed to the stern to get a closer look. The tavern door slammed shut.

"Well, that's fine by me, if none of you yellow-bellied bunny rabbits have the cashews to take on a little _challenge!"_

He looked up. His eye widened.

"...Rhen."

She didn't know at all what happened in the next ten seconds, because after that, she was hugging John like a brother she hadn't seen in years, and nothing else mattered.

"I missed you so much."

"It's only been a few hours."

"I missed you anyway."

At last, Galahad and Peter caught up to Rhen, both exhausted but a little relieved to find that she was right. John glanced at Peter, and they exchanged weak smiles.

"None of you could stand to be apart from me for a whole day, eh?" John chuckled.

"We've got one life apiece," said Peter, rubbing the back of his head. "We won't make these memories just by imagining them to be true."

Rhen nodded into John's jacket. He rubbed her shoulder and looked down until she met his gaze.

"There, now; steady. It isn't the right season for weeping violets."

She laughed through a sniffle. "Where are we going now?"

"Well, now that I have the lion's share of deckhands..." John broke the embrace gently. "Veniara. Quite temperate this time of year, and full of folks who'll be eager to hitch up to our crew. The shipyards there are slow, but some of the best in the archipelago, so we might upgrade to something a little flashier."

"You're a privateer now," reminded Galahad, stern. "Should you even toe the line of piracy again, your marque will be revoked."

John rolled his eye. "If the crown believes piracy to be prevalent in the Veniara isles, why doesn't it just roll in, make arrests, and be done with it?"

Galahad opened his mouth to retort.

"Ahh, but that's right; _you have no evidence."_ John put a hand to his mouth and simpered. "How terribly difficult that must be, to believe in something without a shred of proof. Paladins especially must have a _strong_ sense of--"

"John, please stop talking," said Rhen.

John shrugged at Galahad and turned to release the gangplank. Galahad snarled.

"Veniara," said Peter, rolling the word around his tongue. "That sounds fun. How long does it take to get there?"

"From here? Two days, total. If we leave now, half a day today, a full day tomorrow, and half a day on Tuesday."

"Are you all stocked up?" asked Rhen.

"Yep! I hope you like bananas."

 

 

Rhen would remember that night as among the best of her life. Nothing troubled her as they sailed to the southeast, sitting on the deck and playing party games which even Galahad allowed himself to enjoy. She was convinced John made up the shoddy one with the picture-drawing and the prompt-guessing, but it was delightful all the same. Galahad lost that one thoroughly, as he had as much natural talent for artwork as a pig had for stewing tomatoes.

It took until morning for the guilt to set in. She'd run away again--from her _family,_ who _loved_ her no matter what. This anxious sort of guilt wasn't something she'd ever experienced during her simple life in Clearwater. The guiltiest she ever felt then was when she left Ma's cut of the apple harvest out in the rain overnight before they meant to bake a pie for Pa's birthday. Pacing about the ship, Rhen couldn't touch her banana porridge at breakfast, and she instead began drafting a letter she would send by bird as soon as they made port. It didn't mention the Pendragon... _thing,_ as surely, _surely,_ she'd decided, that _couldn't_ be true.

She wrote nothing for Danny. Deep in her mind she knew that, no matter how rationally she could describe the nature of her feelings, she was still running away from him, just a little bit.

Peter, who knew better than to disturb Rhen while she wrote, found her when she finished. They both preferred to sit abovedecks. Rhen dangled her feet on either side of a guardrail.

"Mind if I join you?" asked Peter, sitting beside her.

"Not at all."

"Good. I was starting to worry I'd lost you to the pen."

Rhen rolled her eyes. "What's on your mind, then?"

"Ahh... nothing. I swiped this book from your room back in Clearwater, _Sedition in Sedona,_ and I was just reading that for a while." Peter stretched.

"I never cracked that one open, to tell you the truth."

"It's good! I learned a lot just in the first chapter."

Rhen smiled at him. "So... Sedona."

"Yeah, Sedona."

"I'm sorry we're not headed there right away. I know you want to go back."

"It's just a feeling."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... I dunno; I went there, and between the people and the culture and... and the city itself, it only took me a day to figure out it was the most important place in the world."

"Important?"

"Yeah, as if... that's where my life is pulling me. It's the center of everything."

Silent, Rhen only nodded.

"Anyway," Peter continued, "it doesn't bother me we're not going there yet. I think it's exciting to travel, and I've always wanted to visit a tropical paradise." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Chock-full of pirates."

Rhen giggled. "Shhh, the brave Sir Galahad will hear!"

"As we all know, the baseless testimony of an inexperienced seventeen-year-old is more than enough to convict any suspected P-I-R-A-T-E in a Sedonan court of law!"

"You know, I think he can spell."

"Surely not. I thought he didn't believe in magic," said John, plopping down between them.

"John! How's the wind?"

"Perfect. We're on course to make port at the isles tomorrow afternoon, as planned."

"Um, I was wondering." Peter scooted around to face John a little more directly. "Where will we go once we have our new ship and crew?"

John looked up. "Good question. Well... I suppose I can't outrun my recent employment forever. We ought to try our hand at collecting an orcish ship or two."

"Peninsula orcs?"

"I'd rather start there than forge all the way out west to capture foreign ships in foreign territories. After some experience, sure, but I've fought plenty of orcs before, and not many far-westerners."

"We're still warming up," said Rhen.

"That makes sense," agreed Peter. "How long do you think we'll stay in the isles first?"

"Probably no more than a day. Two, if we're having fun. There's one tavern and I know the bartender. Picking up a crew should be easy, and trading in this pretty schooner for a proper war rig shouldn't be a chore, either."

Rhen felt completely relaxed again. They had a plan--and yet, at the same time, they didn't. "Probably" this and "suppose" that... the currents could take them anywhere, and wherever they ended up, they would be fine. That was what she wanted. _That_ was where she belonged. She closed her eyes and smiled easily. They would be fine.

 

 

Twenty-four hours later, she was desperately gripping the edges of a wearing crate of Sedonan naval uniforms about three hundred feet off the western coast of the largest of the Veniara isles.

The rain had finally slowed down, and she could see a few barrels bobbing here and there. Rhen was glad they hadn't unsealed _all_ of their food, but she hoped John had the sense to pick up something other than bananas--and that they would have a comfortable place to _eat_ said delicacies, as the schooner had wrapped itself tidily around a crag not visible in the midst of the storm. A tavern would do, of course, but only until they needed to leave again, and their most liquid asset was now no better than so much driftwood.

Ah, yes. There it was. Sailing gently into the sandy shallows: the tiny lifeboat from which she had been violently pitched. Rhen glowered and pulled herself further up the crate by her sword-arm.

She watched three figures emerge from the rowboat onto solid ground. The skinniest of the three, crowned by a blob of red, turned in place. It then jumped and began waving vigorously; Rhen could only assume it meant to signal her. She rolled her eyes. _Don't worry, Peter; I know_ exactly _where you are._

It took a few minutes, but the tide finally dumped her ashore some distance from the rowboat. She lay belly-first in the sand for a moment and sighed heavily. _This is what I signed up for._

The shouting to her left grew louder and more coherent. Both John and Peter were yelling "Rhen!" over and over again, for some reason, as if she was going anywhere; Galahad jogged silently behind. She climbed to her knees and halfheartedly waved them over.

John reached her first, surefooted in the sand, while Peter stumbled in his wake. "Rhen," said John again, offering her a hand.

She stood without it. "That's me."

Awkwardly, he brushed his sandy hands off on his equally sandy jacket. "Glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"What are we going to do now?" grumbled Galahad, voicing Rhen's own thoughts.

"Ah, well... it's a good fortune we crashed on this particular island; the tavern is just up that cliff." John pointed further into the jungle at a cliff no one else could see. "That's as good a place to start as any."

"How are we going to get _off_ this island?!" snapped Rhen.

John cleared his throat. "Well, we, um... obviously, we... we... we need a ship."

All three of his companions sighed and groaned. Rhen dragged her fingers down her face, smearing more wet sand onto her cheeks.

"All right, all right!" John held up his hands. "We'll come up with a plan. It's going to be fine, I swear; I've gotten out of worse jams before."

Peter patted John's back. "Let's list our assets again, I suppose. One... we have a rowboat."

"That's not a bad start!"

"Two, we have a terrible captain--"

"Hey, this kind of thing almost never happened before I took on our violet. I think she must be a bad luck charm."

 _"You're_ the bad luck charm, you--!"

"--and three, we have three additional sets of able hands." Peter wiggled his fingers. "Four, we have the... ah... raw salmon we found in that chest back there."

"Chest?"

"Like one would find in a treasury," explained Galahad.

"Wait... _salmon?"_

"Five, we have a few barrels of... I'm guessing bananas?" (John nodded.) "And six..." Peter glanced behind Rhen and grimaced. "One sealed crate of Sedonan naval uniforms."

"How fortunate."

"Hey! Don't be wry; I'm grateful I didn't have to _swim_ all the way to shore after you _let_ me fall out of that rescue boat!"

"Well _excuse_ me, violet; I didn't much feel like taking the plunge myself for a futile shot at pulling you back in!"

Rhen glared from John to Peter, who shrugged sheepishly, and then to Galahad. Galahad cleared his throat. "My armor... were the water still, and... possibly not so deep--"

"All right, whatever. Is that all we have, Peter?"

"We saved our packs, right?"

"Aw, there go all those Picture-Dictionary drawings we saved..." John frowned.

"Yes, it looks like we did," answered Rhen, also frowning; her letter to Clearwater would be ruined, too. "And our weapons."

Peter shook a little water from his sleeve. "Ugh... I despise wet clothing. Why must we make a habit of this?"

"Maybe _you're_ the bad luck charm, master navigator; I've crashed _three_ times since vi dragged you onto my ship!"

"No, John; it's you."

"Can we stay on task, please?" Rhen rubbed her forehead.

"May I remind you that you do possess at this moment a number of dry garments assigned explicitly for your usage," pointed out Galahad.

The other three were silent for a moment. They glanced around at one another, out at the island, out to the sea, at the pristine crate sitting behind Rhen.

Eventually, John said, "I don't think I've ever heard you crack a joke before, pala-had. Excellent work; very proud."

"Do not ever allow me to hear you call me by that name again," growled Galahad in his lowest voice. "Wish you not for a _solution?_ It is behind you."

"So that gets us dry and warm," interjected Peter in a conciliatory tone. "Fine. But how do we proceed from there?"

They were silent again.

Rhen sighed. "Let's just start with what we have, I suppose. Someone help me crack this open."

Each walked about thirty paces away before they changed clothes, including Galahad, who had no intention of removing his armor. The uniforms weren't hideous, but Rhen certainly wouldn't wear one on an evening stroll with a coveted suitor. The pure white was unflattering and the bright aquamarine reminded Rhen of a child's doll. The effect was odd, unrealistic, and somehow idyllic, like what a fantasy prince might wear to the ball while the disgraced princess gazed on in her rags. At least they fit.

John looked ridiculous.

Rhen's stomach growled beneath the creaseless broadcloth. There was little else they could do if they were too hungry. She set her eyes on the jungle. "You said there's a tavern in there somewhere?" she asked.

"Yep."

She hoisted a barrel of bananas under one arm. "Lead the way."

The trees weren't as dense as they seemed from far away; there was even a wide path pressed into the sand by the feet of countless mariners. The cliff was apparent as soon as John found the trail. Up the stone-and-sand steps they went, and Rhen saw at last the tavern, its noisy clientele audible from quite a distance, as well as two other simple buildings, little more than thatch huts. She raised an eyebrow. _This_ was the bounty of the famed Veniara isles?

Whatever. She was _starving._ Barrel tight in the crook of her arm, she ran ahead of her party, pushed open the tavern door, and stepped inside.

The hollering and debauchery stopped the instant she opened the door. She looked around--now _these_ were sailors. These people, missing teeth and limbs, weathered but muscular nonetheless... this was the crew her ship needed.

They stared at her.

"ALL RIGHT!" she hollered, two steps behind herself in whatever the hell it was she was doing; "LISTEN UP, CURS! THE SEDONAN NAVY HAS ENOUGH EVIDENCE TO CONVICT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU!"

Peter ran up behind her and halted when he heard what she was doing. He cleared his throat. "THAT'S RIGHT, AND WE'RE HERE TO COLLECT!"

The bartender, a tall woman with a cloud of brown hair, stopped wiping the bar and crossed her arms, fixed on Rhen and Peter. Her hooded eyes and straight lips indicated incredulity.

"WE HAVE TWELVE LETTERS OF MARQUE READY FOR THE NOTARY FOR ANY MARAUDER WHO RETURNS WITH US TONIGHT," Rhen continued, "AND A FULL PARDON FOR THOSE WHO VOLUNTEER THEIR OWN SHIPS."

Panting, John reached the door, followed by Galahad. "Stop running off like that, violet, you--wait--what are you doing?!"

"IF YOU FLEE, YOU WILL BE FACED WITH THE WRATH OF THE CROWN OF SEDONA!"

The bartender's eyes flew open, and it took a second before an expression of unadulterated rage swept over her. _"John?!"_

"Vi, shut up, shut _up!"_ hissed John, swatting at her arm. "I told you, the bartender knows me!"

Rhen blanched. "The--?"

"GET THEM!" hollered a sailor, and mayhem broke loose.

Chairs were thrown, tables flipped, drinks splashed on pristine uniforms. An older woman tried to grab the barrel from Rhen, and they struggled together while John beat back aggressors with his rapier in the corner. Peter slid under the arms of Rhen and her assailant, and the intoxicated seaman in pursuit slammed into the woman, toppling them both onto a table. The barrel went soaring from Rhen's grip and smashed to pieces upon Galahad's pauldron as he was punched in the face by a sinewy patron. Bananas flew everywhere.

The bartender snatched one out of the air and hurled it at John's head. To Rhen's horror, he dropped like a stone.

"ARREST THESE MISCREANTS!" she shouted, climbing up to stand on the bar. She drew an axe from the folds of her skirt and thrust it into the air. "THROW 'EM IN THE CLINK!"

Two pirates grabbed John's unconscious body from the floor and started dragging him toward the door. Galahad was the next to go down; the bartender leapt at him from atop the bar and he slipped on a banana in his haste to retreat, slamming his head into the leg of a table. Rhen knew then that they were overwhelmed. She grabbed Peter as he ran by and raised her arms slowly in submission before the advancing sailors.

That was how Rhen Darzon, Captain John, Peter Baker, and Sir Galahad ended up in pirate jail.


	22. Retrospect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some journeys have wide turning points.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for teenage drinking, alcohol abuse, self harm, references to vomiting.
> 
> Next chapter, everything changes. Let's get ready together.

"Elini."

"Yes?"

"The noodles are delicious."

"Thank you."

"I didn't know you could cook."

"When pressed."

_Chew. Chew. Swallow._

"This wine pairs excellently with--"

"Yes."

_Scrape._

_Slurp._

_Chew. Swallow._

"Elini."

"Yes?"

"I'm rather thirsty."

"Dameon is filling a pitcher with water in the kitchen."

_Sigh. Munch. Chew, chew._

_Swallow._

"Elini."

"Yes?"

"Give me the wine."

Elini stood from her chair at the dining room table, grasping the bottle of petit sirah, still two-thirds full, in one hand. With the other, she wiped a fleck of pepper from her cheek. "I believe we have had enough of this wine. The candlelight begins to blur in my eyes."

Lars scowled, but said nothing further. If this was how she meant to handle him... fine.

With the bottle firmly in her clutch, Elini and her sure-footed step _(click, clack, echo, echo)_ left Lars at the head of the table. She would carry the wine upstairs to her room and stash it in a little bedside cabinet guarded by a prickly imp, and Lars wouldn't see a drop until the following night. His team knew as well as he did that he wouldn't be drinking more whiskey anytime soon--not after he spent most of their meeting with the Snow Queen vomiting into a silver pot in the hallway out of the guards' line of sight. When he bought a bottle of wine on their first night back in Sedona, Elini confiscated it immediately. Wine was much harder to conceal than liquor. She eventually allowed him to drink the wine because _he_ bought it, but only with her, and only at dinner.

Lars rested an elbow on the table, cupping his face. He knew he'd acted irresponsibly and that his companions had every right to discipline him like a child.

Dameon walked in from the kitchen with a pitcher of ice water and took Lars' glass to fill it. His footsteps echoed eerily around the massive room. The table, although quite long, was set only for three at the very end. The rest of the enormous dining room was empty.

"Thanks," Lars said to Dameon, watching clear water splash into the purple dregs of his empty glass. Ice clinked at the bottom.

"I hope you kept my food warm," joked Dameon. His relaxed smiles had grown common recently.

"I don't know about that, but your seat should still..." Lars trailed off in the middle of his riposte. It wasn't working for him. He sighed.

Dameon sat in the chair by the wall, pulled in towards the table, and folded a napkin over his lap. "This smells fantastic."

"It's pretty good."

With another smile, Dameon brought a modest forkful of noodles to his mouth. The horrid, squishy sound of chewing was all Lars could hear, amplified by the deafening nothingness swirling around the room. In Ghalarah, the crickets and frogs drowned out the noise through Rona's thin walls. Here, he felt bottled.

Thank the gods the druid's impeccable table manners prevented him from opening his mouth while he chewed. _Munch, munch, swallow._ "We've never had private meals like this before, have we? It's always been taverns and rations by the fire."

"Right."

Dameon twirled up another forkful, and Lars tried very hard not to grind his teeth.

 _Munch, chew, chew, swallow._ "I like it. It's relaxing."

Lars sighed.

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm just not feeling well. I don't want to eat anymore," lied Lars. He stood from the table.

Dameon gazed up at him, concern in his coffee-brown eyes. "All right. Leave your dishes and let me know if I can bring you anything later."

Lars broke that gaze and turned away before Dameon could see the soft blush flowering across his cheeks. Sometimes, even though they did nothing but glare and argue throughout lessons and missions alike, the contemptuous druid could act so... _nice._

Elini was making her way back to the dining room, wineless, when Lars exited. She put a hand on his shoulder to halt him.

"Wait. The ship-makers will finish building the new cabin on the old boat in one more day. I believe we should all discuss together what to do when that is finished."

Lars had to concede; this was an important topic of discussion. He tried his best to exhale the warmth from his face. "That's fine, but I'm going to bed afterward. Did you find Te'ijal?"

"Um... I will tell her in the morning."

His voice lowered, Lars said, "You don't know where she is?"

Elini furrowed her brow. "She took my grocery list. Do not assume the worst of that woman."

That didn't satisfy Lars, but the part of him that wanted to storm the streets looking for Te'ijal was vastly overwhelmed by the part that wanted to trudge into bed and stare into the middle distance for a few hours. He shook his head before turning back to the dining room.

"Fine. Just tell Dameon she's fletching arrows in the basement or something."

Lars sat back down at the head of the table, now flanked by both Elini and Dameon. Elini smiled pleasantly.

"The cabin on the boat will be finished in one day's time," she began. "We must decide what we will do once we can sail again."

"Do we have any leads on the princess?" asked Dameon, setting his fork down on his plate.

Lars shook his head. "She's probably completed her rescue mission by now, but that's speculation."

"'Danny' is his name, right?" Dameon looked thoughtful.

"Why? Have you heard something?"

"Oh. No, I haven't."

Lars raised an eyebrow. "Anyway... we _could_ go to Clearwater, but... I have my doubts she'll be there."

"Why is that?" asked Elini.

A searing light flashed through Lars' mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. _Enough of this, damn it. I know what I'm doing._

"Look at all we know about her," he responded, keeping his voice level. "She's not going home. I'd bet anything she's still with the man in the red coat, sailing off somewhere."

Dameon crossed his arms. "'All we know about her'? As far as I'm concerned, _all we know about her_ is that she's effectively unstoppable. She went home once, didn't she?"

"And she left immediately."

"To rescue her missing friend, not to take herself on vacation!"

"Anyone else could have done it."

"No one in Clearwater is nearly as skilled as she, and by now, she knows it."

"Right." Lars leaned back. "Which is _why_ Rhen would never stay in Clearwater."

Dameon dragged his fingers over his scalp, leaving white streaks of pressure on his skin. "You can't _know_ that."

His glare cool, Lars considered the irony. He knew something that Dameon didn't.

"Gentlemen," said Elini, holding out her hands to pacify them, "please remain calm. The best plans are made with clear heads and hearts."

Dameon seemed to blink the animosity from his eyes, and assumed his typical, placid poise. Lars loosened his posture.

"We may send a bird to Clearwater if we wish to explore our options here," continued Elini. "That should take but a day if we send the letter tonight."

"That's a good idea." Dameon nodded. "I'll draft the inquiry."

"Wonderful."

"But what should we do _now?"_ said Lars, his voice growing a little whiny despite himself. He knew plenty about Rhen's personality, certainly, but the Oracle wasn't sending him flashes of intuition that actually helped him form _plans._ In truth, she hadn't told him anything he didn't already know, about Rhen or about... anything. He slid his hand into his pocket and fidgeted with the old note, crumpling and smoothing one corner.

"There are two druids we have not yet transported to Aveyond--"

"No. No, abso _lutely_ not." Lars cut Elini off with a wave of his hand. "We don't have the strength required to even reach their temples."

Dameon scoffed. "Have a little faith!"

"Actually, I believe he is right," sighed Elini. "The Temple of Strength is on Veldt, and none but the most powerful may pass through the demon caves to see it. To go alone is to invite death into your house with tea and a curtsy. Even with four, I doubt our success."

The front door swung open, ushering cold wind into the house. When it shut, Lars heard Te'ijal call, "I am home! And Elini, I have brought your tea!"

Dameon shut his eyes. "It was _outside? Unsupervised?"_

"Maybe you should smear garlic on the doorframe, if you're so concerned," Lars muttered darkly.

"If we must not rescue Eithera and we do not know the location of the princess, we must wait until we have more answers," pressed Elini, trying to draw attention back to the matter at hand as Te'ijal dropped a canvas bag, dotted with tiny brown stains, onto the table and sat in the chair next to her best friend. Lars glanced at the bag. _Haven't seen_ that _stain before._

"Yes, I agree that it would be wise to wait in Sedona a while longer." Te'ijal smiled, all lip and no fang.

"We should be doing _something,_ though," Lars insisted.

Dameon shook his head. "Our only course of action now is to search for information on the princess. We shouldn't waste our time or resources traipsing from village to village unless we need to. If you truly believe that we aren't powerful enough to rescue the other druids--a concern with which I disagree--we should spend our time training."

Lars leaned his head back in his chair, suddenly both exhausted and wide awake, agitated. Maybe Dameon was right, and they should seek out the druids themselves, however reckless that might be. If _Dameon_ thought they were ready--Dameon, his _mentor_ \--then... they might be.

One way or another, he couldn't stand to stay in that house any longer.

 

 

Despite his weariness, Lars could barely sleep that night. His sleep had been sparse since they escorted Daena to Aveyond. He recalled the first night after the battle against Indra--he sustained a massive wound through his shoulder, nearly incapacitating him, and Dameon instructed him that night to rest as much as he could. One thing Lars had learned of healing magic was that it could only fix so much, could only kill the pain and bind the body together enough to keep fighting. Broken flesh needed to relearn itself. Unfortunately, he spent the night tossing and turning, aggravating the lingering sting in his shoulder, freezing in the cool temple air but sweating under his bedroll. It was as if some winter virus had slipped past his immune system. He recalled catching the Sedonan sweats as a child. This affliction felt similar, and he prayed to the proprietor of the temple in which he laid that his guts wouldn't betray him that night.

In his bed on the ground floor of the manor, Lars struggled to sleep once more. The noodles churned in his belly, but he could tell there was no real threat of untimely expulsion tonight. Although he still could barely sleep, the discomfort had lessened each night, granting him gradual relief from his mysterious ailment.

Well... not so mysterious. Elini told him that he was recovering from "the wicked influence of the spirits." Lars only pretended not to know what she meant.

But it seemed that something else had crept into his restless thoughts those recent nights. Something he couldn't quite shake during the day, and which disturbed his dreams frequently of late. Even when the incandescence of alcohol receded from his body, and even when his mind and demeanor were cool and confident, some persistent, alien _heat_ threatened to hurl him headfirst into a debilitating fever. It was inescapable. It followed him like a convoy, like a partner. Like... Dameon _._

Lars rolled onto his side, clutching a pillow to his gut as if he could smother the feeling before it rose. Despite his efforts, the familiar warmth rocketed from his chest. It rose through to his cheeks, swelling in his lungs and forcing itself out with his breath in a little puff, accompanied by the smallest _"oh."_

 _What is wrong with me?!_ He screwed his eyes shut and pressed the pillow closer.

At least the Oracle didn't bug him about it. She'd been quieter since the involuntary tapering off of Lars' alcohol consumption. How _kind_ of her to sanction this new lunacy.

He wouldn't think about what he wanted. He wouldn't feed the parasite that satisfaction. What he wanted, really, was an end to these absurd feelings, these currently abstract desires, and not to conceptualize or fulfill them in any way. He didn't want... _him,_ that infuriating, imperious, patronizing, contrarian, domineering, self-righteous...

 _Oh, Goddess._ His face was scorching. Lars buried it in the pillow and listened to his pulse pounding in his temples. _I hate him._

If he stayed in this mansion another day, Lars _knew_ his pathetic little heart would give out on him and that he would simply lie down and expire. Not the fake sort of knockout that occurred every once in a while in combat, the sort that saw you wake up in all kinds of unflattering positions while someone shoved leaves into your mouth; no, this would be the real, earnest sort of death where your blood stops pumping and your soul returns to the Goddess, or gets trapped in the Underworld if you have the wrong enemies. This weird, immeasurable anxiety would kill him properly. He was certain of it.

 

 

So he left before dawn and caught the earliest ferry out of town.

Well, it was less of a ferry and more of a passenger freighter. It had four masts, and that was about the extent of what Lars knew about any ship on sight, but it was gigantic, carrying easily at least one hundred passengers in addition to the crew. He only faintly cared where it was headed. East, it seemed. He shelled out a little extra before boarding, and the captain discreetly slipped him a key as he ascended the gangplank.

Not that he used that luxurious, private room very often during his voyage. It did afford him the most relaxing sleep he'd had in at least a week, but that wasn't saying much, and anyway, he couldn't stand to be stuck in there. All he had to do was practice the subtlest spells he could manage without damaging any of the gaudy "exotic" decor. For the most part, that meant slicing a letter-opener through his hand, or up his arm if he felt especially confident, and sucking the wound from his flesh til no scars were visible, stretching the skill he'd finally developed on the sober voyage home from Aveyond. Now, healing felt as easy as brushing his hair--but it was a maddening art to perform on one's own body. Lars needed something else to do. He wanted to be by himself, true, but not alone.

There was a small bar reserved for the captain's favored guests, just below her quarters in the tiered forecastle. That wasn't a bad place to be by-himself-but-not-alone, he decided. He paid only for water on the first day, but on the second, he made a friend; a man in a seasonally-appropriate sweater and a tacky straw boater.

The stranger plopped down onto the barstool beside Lars and gave him a warm smile. "Evening, friend."

"Evening."

"Enjoying the voyage so far?"

Lars shrugged. "Can't complain. It's a huge ship."

The stranger laughed. "She really is a goliath of a carrack, isn't she? Barkeep! Hey, can I buy you a whiskey?"

Bile rose immediately to Lars' throat. He pushed it down patiently. "Wine would be lovely."

"You got it. Hey, 'keep; a pot of hot mulled wine to share, please."

A moment later, Lars sipped from a mug of hot wine and immediately winced. Mulling spices... cloves and cinnamon, of course, with a touch of honey. The scent flooded him, and then the wine and its warmth weren't the only things flushing his cheeks.

"Too hot for you, eh?" his neighbor chuckled, oblivious. "So, what's got you headed to the eastern continent?"

"Uh..." Lars pursed his lips. "Family."

"Mm. Yes, I'm headed home to the wife and daughter, myself. I had a difficult couple of weeks, with my horse, and my boat, and... ah, who needs to dwell on it. A holiday in Sedona was exactly what I needed."

"Lovely place." Lars took another sip, trying not to inhale.

The stranger sighed contentedly. "Absolutely. But... oh, I remember what a delight it was to visit _Thais_ as a kid. Now there's a vacation! The grey stone of the castle, glinting like silver in the sunlight.... The food, the music, the _dancing...._ Song is in the very blood of Thais."

"I've heard that."

"I feel sorry for you younger folk, that hearing is all you'll ever do." The man shook his head remorsefully. "Even I was still young when it... tsk! Again, here I go rambling on about unhappy things."

They sipped for another minute. The man stretched and hopped down.

"I nearly forgot; I have an appointment with the captain in a few minutes. Please, finish the wine! I hope to see you around the ship."

"I--" He was already gone. Lars shut his mouth and turned back to the toasty mug in his hand. He stared at it for a minute, feeling what he'd already drank swirling through his chest, before waving for the bartender's attention.

"Can I get you something, sir?"

"A cheese sandwich and a glass of water."

 

 

The eastern continent--as far away from Sedona as Lars could reasonably get. As expected, the journey took five days, and late on the fifth evening, Lars realized he had no idea what he intended to do now that he was on land again.

He was suddenly awash with a fear that someone he knew would see him if he returned to the jungle. He didn't know _why_ this notion troubled him so much, but it did. He hoisted his pack up and rubbed his forehead with one hand. There was no way he wanted to stay at the marina. Again, he couldn't say why, but he felt this restless urgency to go back to the jungle, and he needed to remain unseen. And, of all things, he needed to _walk._

He'd long ago given up trying to reason with his anxious urges. They could drive his feet tonight, and he would just follow.

The sun sank behind him as he plunged into the darkness of familiar night. He'd rarely ever taken the road on foot, because he was a _noble,_ and nobles never did things like that. The thought made him sniff. He didn't feel much like a noble, or like anything, just then; he was just a person, a boy. Maybe a man. One human with two legs and a whirring engine for a brain.

The engine took him down the road, further east into the jungle. For the first time since he ran away to go to school (what a boy he was then!), Lars traversed the jungle paths entirely alone. He remembered how wary he'd been of wild creatures, how carefully he planned his movements so he wouldn't be bitten by any spiders. If they even approached him now, they withered and died in the necrotic aura he maintained about his body.

Rhen had walked these paths, too, hadn't she? Or... had she? Lars recalled the futile attempts to hunt for her; beyond the Tenobors' fence, not a single track could be found on the jungle floor. He cast a glance at the muddy river under the wooden walkway beneath his feet. Did she _swim?_ In _that?_ Lars shuddered. He couldn't imagine dipping even a toe into that filth. This, he guessed, was what made him still a noble. Rhen Pendragon was the most intrepid soul he'd never met.

Lars stepped onto solid ground, and he began picking his way through the trees, and he hated, hated, _hated_ how much it felt like home.

His feet led him south and west again, down the path back towards the river. There, he could see smoke rising from the butcher's chimney. He sighed through his nose and stepped onto the bridge.

"Master Lars!" gasped a voice from the guardhouse. Ah, yes. This. He waved idly at the guards without looking their way.

"How is school?" clamored another guard.

"Leave him be! He must be here for a serious reason!"

"Right! Sincerest apologies, Master Lars; please proceed."

He had already proceeded, and left them prattling at an empty bridge.

 _What now?_ It seemed moot to continue avoiding the townspeople since the guards already saw him, but he still really didn't want to see anyone he knew, anyone whose _name_ he knew. Maybe, he realized, he didn't want to be reminded of Lars, the Lars who lived in Ghalarah. Slave-owning, smack-talking, self-centered, impertinent, insecure Lars, the noble, the boy. He hated to think that boy wasn't some other person masquerading as him, the real Lars, the Lars who had yet to emerge from a sixteen-year slumber.

He hid in the shadows of the trees bordering town. There was the house in which he grew up, in one sense of the term. The lanterns out front were unlit. Lars shivered. It looked like Rona was still awake, reading in her bedroom, or perhaps she'd fallen asleep before quenching her candle. If she had a new servant--a new _slave,_ Lars reminded himself with a cringe--the candle would go out five minutes after Rona's first snore. He tried to listen through the thin walls of the house as if he might hear that snore, but the croaking wildlife of the jungle consumed the air until it was all his ears could find.

At least that meant no one could hear him from inside, either. He knew exactly what would happen if his mother found him outside; she would push his head down until he slouched to her height and yell in his ear until she ran out of satisfactory invectives for him, and then she would tell him to go to bed.

Lars walked around the east side of the house, not bothering to sneak. He thought he smelled green tea. Interesting. Rona must've cracked open a bottle of her precious Thornkeep vodka reserve.

He ended up behind the house, near the ancient ficus with the low staircase branches. It took a bit of effort to scramble onto the lowest branch, as it always had, but from there, it was easy to climb the staggered wood until he was level with the gently-sloped back roof. He had to be as silent as possible as he scooted onto the roof and shimmied up to the shallow ridge at the center. He'd done this before--once with Ylitta, in fact, and she didn't get the hint--so it wasn't difficult, although it had been quite a long time since he last climbed a roof.

Setting his pack down beside him, Lars leaned back to stare into the night sky.

He took a deep breath and sighed, and it felt _excellent,_ as if he finally expelled a years-old ghost from his lungs. He stretched every limb, and each stretch was the most relaxing stretch he'd stretched in weeks. His body was finally releasing itself here on the roof of the house he despised more than any other. Lars couldn't possibly say it was because he was _home._ This wasn't home. It was just... an easy place. A place where all that troubled him was himself, and he could deal with that.

Arms behind his head, Lars smiled up at the stars. _I'm running away again, aren't I?_

He confidently admitted that, yes, he was running away from his quest. Who wouldn't need a break after all he'd done, all he'd been through? It was as if he was the one saving the world in the prophesied hero's stead. That was no breezy jaunt through the park. But it didn't matter much what he was escaping, if escape truly was what he sought. Like the man on the ship said, there was no point dwelling on those difficult things during a vacation.

A vacation... and then, he would return "home". To Sedona. Lars scoffed. _Sedona_ was home now? He didn't think so. But the thought begged a severe question he'd been avoiding like an imperial creditor.

Where would he go, once this was over?

Not back here.

Not back to school.

Goddess willing, not back to Sedona.

He rolled over, shut his eyes, and tried to picture what his life would look like--and _bam,_ like lightning, with a fanfare of heat and plummeting guts, there he was behind Lars' closed eyes; there was Dameon.

Lars sighed through his teeth. There was no escaping Dameon, it seemed. Why did he appear when Lars tried to think lucidly about his own life? Did he honestly, viscerally _want_ the combative sun priest to eclipse his every thought?

With that thought, his stomach flipped and frenzied, and he grew short of breath. He was trying to hold it all back, to contain the feelings so they couldn't be legitimized; maybe that would stifle them, suffocate them until they died. If he gave them oxygen, if he showed them the light of day, he knew, deep down, what would happen.

They pressed. They whispered. They besieged him. _Does he infuriate you? Does he inflame you? Does he consume you?_

_Yes._

Lars squeezed his eyes shut. He saw his resistance faltering.

_Does he follow you when he isn't there? Is he in your breath? Is he in your blood?_

_Yes._

_Do you want him there?_

Lars let go.

_Yes._

It left him like a breath he'd been holding for weeks, and it left him shaking, shuddering, as empty and relieved as if he'd retched it out. His eyes fluttered open to feel the broad distance of the stars. This was right--if he truly carried Dameon with him wherever he went, this was the right place to take him, the right thing to see first in the throes of a fascination finally acknowledged.

It took him a minute to sit up. His head was spinning and his body still trembling from the force of his epiphany. He had to sit up, though, so he could breathe properly. His heart drummed in his ears.

Upright, Lars hugged his knees. He felt exposed in a way he didn't like. He suddenly missed the warmth, the oblivion that he experienced when he thought of Dameon, ungrounded; but something anchored him now to the rustling jungle floor far below his feet. Staring at the sky, he tried to imagine Dameon beside him, but it felt hollow, as if he couldn't imitate the real thing.

Something wet slipped under the neckline of his robe, and he laughed, startled, when he realized he'd begun to cry.

He wiped away the tears. That was ridiculous. _What would Dameon think if he saw you crying like a child? You're barely his equal. You... could never...._

A shudder ran through Lars' chest, and he slammed his hand on the roof, reached into his pack with the other, and snatched the flask of leftover mulled wine he'd saved against his best judgment. It still smelled like Dameon. Lars pinched his nose and chugged the wine. Tears continued trickling down his cheeks.

When he finished, he wiped the wine and water roughly from his face. The slow moon rose above the high treetops. Lars sat and watched it for a while.

 

 

He woke up at dawn not because of the encroaching light nor the morning birds but because someone was climbing the roof below him.

Before even opening his eyes, he sighed. It was probably a Tenobor guard, there to gently but firmly escort him off the roof. He rolled his head about, trying to stretch the kinks from his neck. By the time his eyelids flicked open, his guest was sitting next to him. He turned.

It was Dameon.

He looked like he hadn't slept in a while, hair sticking out at atypical angles, the skin under his eyes darker than usual. He leaned back on his hands and looked at Lars.

Lars' heart nearly leapt out through his mouth. "Dameon!" he choked, scrambling to sit up. His head pounded, and he screwed his eyes shut, turning away from the alluring angle of Dameon's chin.

"So this is Ghalarah, huh?"

The sun hadn't risen high enough to banish the darkness from the sky, which was indigo, speckled with a handful of lingering stars. It was the quietest time of day, when the croaking hushed before the birds were awake. The leaves of the trees and undergrowth lay still. The jungle remained warm in the fall and winter, but the early mornings were much cooler; Lars wished he had a blanket.

His eyes were still averted. He knew that, as soon as he opened them to look at Dameon again, he would blush. How humiliating that felt.

"Yeah. This is Ghalarah."

He opened his eyes and he blushed.

Dameon didn't act like he noticed. It might have been too dark to tell, anyway. "It's small," he said, "and kind of charming."

Lars sniffed and looked back at the sky. "I wouldn't call it charming."

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Ah... constricting, probably."

"Oh, right. I understand."

It was hard to imagine the sun priest feeling _constricted,_ but that silken bass voice could convince Lars of just about anything if it tried.

"So... you followed me." Lars caught Dameon's eye again.

"All three of us did."

"Really? Where are Te'ijal and Elini?"

"I, uh..." Dameon laughed a little, quiet in the expanse of jungle and sky. "It's a long story, but... you know the sloop we've been sailing on? Turns out it was stolen."

Lars snickered, despite himself. "And the owner just happened to be at the docks last night?"

Dameon nodded. "Pretty wild coincidence. It seems that the boat--the 'Queen Sarah', as if anyone could read that--was actually the ferry from here to the northern isle."

"No way!"

"Uh huh." Dameon rested his head back against his arms. "He took one look at the state of it, and, well...."

"He didn't want it back?"

"Who would? Heh... even with the new cabin? But he's pretty angry."

"So you left Te'ijal and Elini to deal with it."

"Yep."

"Why not just pay him for the boat?"

Dameon hesitated. "Well, we did, but he still thinks we stole it."

Lars rolled his eyes. "So tell him what happened."

"As if we didn't try. Look... maybe you can corroborate Elini's tall tales. He might listen to you."

"Assuming the poor man is still alive!" Lars sighed, a little dramatic. "Why on Aia would you leave _them_ to take care of things?"

"I wanted to come find you myself."

Blistering heat sliced through Lars, reaching his fingertips and toes, his ears, the very tip of his nose. What did that mean? Did it mean _anything?_

"I... I don't know... why you came for me at all, to be honest," he stammered eventually, his voice trailing off to a hush. He prayed Dameon wasn't looking at him, but he turned to see, and of course Dameon was looking at him--and his face was troubled, brow tense, perfect plum lips just slightly pursed, a lock of brown hair tumbling to obscure one dark eye.

"What do you mean?" asked Dameon.

Lars swallowed twice. "I'm just... I'm not... important, not to this mission. There's nothing you really need me for. Not anymore."

Dameon drew a few inches closer, and Lars' heart broke into a gallop. "That's absurd, Lars," he insisted, and Lars' name flowing deep from Dameon's tongue made him _boil._ "The world would already be lost without you. If anyone isn't needed here, frankly, it's--" (Lars watched him stumble, uncharacteristically, as if he meant to say something and hesitated) "--it's me."

He glanced away.

That made Lars straighten his spine and lean further toward Dameon than he would have dared otherwise. The heat vanished, replaced by concern. The collected priest, showing signs of insecurity? He thought the moon would melt first. "You're _crucial_ to this quest, Dameon," he argued. "You--you could find her on your own, I _know_ it, but no one could do it without you. Hell, I think you could save the world _yourself."_

For the first time since Lars met him, Dameon blushed.

It was only a little pink in the cheeks, barely something Lars would have noticed had he not been inches from Dameon's face, but there; it happened, and the image would be etched into his memory forever.

Then, it was over, and Dameon murmured, "You could, too, you know."

They sat in silence for a while after that, faces turned toward the heavens, watching the stars fade from the paling azure sky.

Long after Lars lost sight of the last bright straggler, he cleared his throat and spoke again. "I'm guessing you never sent that bird out to Clearwater?"

"Well, no," hummed Dameon. "But I did find _Danny_ in the marketplace before we left, signing up for archery lessons, of all things. It sounds like the princess flew the coop once more."

"Huh. I was right."

"You've got her all figured out, I know." Dameon smirked playfully. "The good news is, we got a tip."

"What do you mean, 'a tip'?" asked Lars, suddenly alert.

Dameon sat up, stretching his arms out across his knees. "On our way out to get you, we bumped into this sailor at the docks. He was raving about a handful of swindlers who came barreling into the tavern at Veniara, claiming to be members of the Sedonan guard."

"And...?"

"And... one of them had the absolute _strangest_ hair."

Lars grinned. "You don't say."

A halo of light gleamed over the tops of the easternmost trees as the sun crept its way into the morning sky. The shifting colors painted the sparse clouds with gentle pastels. Dameon took a deep breath as he watched it.

"She always comes back," he murmured absently, almost as if he'd forgotten Lars sat not a foot away. "She's always the same."

Lars didn't know what to say.

Eventually, Dameon turned to him, and Lars couldn't help but mirror the peaceful smile on his friend's lips. Dameon seemed strange,  _open,_ like all the ceramic had been chipped away from his tender face. Like he was really, truly, just...  _happy._ He licked his lips and paused as if unsure whether he should speak.

"Lars."

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever seen the sunrise exultation?"

"Can't say I have."

"Do... um... do you want to?"

"Actually, yeah."

"All right. Ah... here; let's start with the chant of breath."


	23. Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to face the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Big Chapter, the Chapter Where Everything Changes Forever. You've made it! I've made it. I can hardly believe that. In the spirit of being the Very Important Chapter, Union is exceptionally long, at nearly 7,400 words. Just like this was a chapter I needed to be ready to write, this is a chapter you should be ready to read.
> 
> What else, what else... ah. You may have noticed that Rhenegade's word count has officially passed 100k. That the 100k marker was reached in this particular chapter, of all chapters, is a point of tremendous joy for me. Union is a celebration not only as a turning point for the characters but as a milestone for me. As always, @iztopher was an indescribable help in editing this and all prior chapters, and I want to thank her profusely.
> 
> Content warning for mentions of slavery and a mention of alcohol abuse.

         

_"I can't believe the first sight I had to see coming out of prison is you. I almost want to go back in."_

_"That makes me feel fantastic about slaughtering demons and leading an expedition back and forth across the ocean just to find you."_

_"I didn't_ ask _for this!"_

 

 

"And then... after that came King Alexander." Rhen tapped her cheek four times.

"And Queen...?"

"A-a-ah... Al... Oh, dung, what was it... Queen Alisandra!"

"Good! And then?"

"Uh..." Rhen swallowed. "Then their daughter, Queen Alicia, and her husband, King Devin."

"Nice. You really nailed it this time."

"Well, we've had nothing else to do but talk history in this stupid cell."

John waggled a finger. "What, you don't remember that rousing game of I Perceive where I perceived six different brown things?"

"Or that game of Twenty-Four Questions where you couldn't guess the _sun?"_ teased Peter from the corner. Rhen rolled her eyes.

"Or the time that barn cat snuck in after a rat and we got to watch it chase invisible stuff through the straw?"

"Or when we dripped water on Galahad's cheek to see how long it would take him to wake up--"

"Perhaps our undignified incarceration may teach you some measure of _respect,"_ snapped Galahad. He sat on a barrel by the foggy window on the back wall, staring out as if he could see the island beyond. That's where he'd been for about eight days.

What an eight days it was. The jail cell might have been comfortable enough for one person, but for four... not so much. They took turns sleeping on the tiny cot, although John was content to sleep on the floor for a few hours with his jacket under his head. (For some inexplicable reason, Marge and the sailors hadn't stripped them of their belongings. Only their weapons--the weapons which weren't concealed in boots or sleeves--lay in a heap against the wall beyond the bars. Rhen had trouble deciding whether it was worse to wear her smelly, sea-washed outfit or the ridiculous Sedonan naval uniform in which she'd been arrested.)

At least the food was good. Their three daily meals smelled a lot like the tavern on the other end of the island. That barmaid was a delightful cook.

It was the morning of their eighth full day in jail. Galahad barely ever spoke or moved, and Rhen wondered what being _jailed_ by _pirates_ must be doing to his brittle psyche. She, John, and Peter were pretty much just bored.

("Marge'll let us out sooner or later," John told them during their first night in jail. "Yeah, don't look at me like that; I've been here a few times.")

With little else to do, Rhen finally capitulated to John's frequent attempts at teaching her the history of the mainland. She had surprisingly little reference for Thais and its people, having never seen a single book on the subject before, which struck her as quite odd, given that she'd found books on nearly every obscure subject she could imagine. Now that she thought of it... she _had_ purchased a book on Thais from the monthly peddler a couple years ago. A basic historic and cultural overview; she forgot the title. She didn't open it that night, as she was more excited about the latest Achille Favreau mystery novel she'd snagged, but the following morning... well, she never saw that history book again. She hadn't thought on it before now, but Pa's face had fallen when she showed him her haul on the afternoon the peddler came to town.

John, surprisingly, was a pretty good teacher when he wasn't swinging sharp objects at the vital organs of a ship. When she got him to settle and focus, he could tell three stories, connect them all together, and listen to her draw an unprompted, scholarly conclusion with a grin on his face. He also quickly figured out that she memorized things in rhythm--A-lex-an-der, four; A-li-san-dra, four; A-li-ci-a, four; De-vin, two. If she tapped her feet on the floor while he spoke, she could recite anything flawlessly after a couple tries, so he spoke slowly and evenly.

Peter listened sometimes. Thais didn't interest him much. When John and Rhen had a daytime lesson, he usually fished _Sedition in Sedona_ from his pack and flipped through a new chapter, as he did this morning.

"I can't believe the monarchy of Thais lasted for a thousand years," murmured Rhen, sounding a little more pensive than she intended.

"Yep. Makes you really want to get out there and keelhaul some demons, huh?"

"Have you ever seen a demon ship?" asked Peter, his eyebrows raised over the top of the book.

"Uh... once or twice."

"And?" Rhen's eyes were wide now, too.

John cleared his throat. "Well, the ideal thing to do when you spot a demon ship is to, you know, run away and hope it didn't spot you back."

Rhen snorted. "Right. I forgot pirates are supposed to be cowards."

"Hey! That's not true! We're just... pragmatic."

"I can respect that," said Peter.

"Well, it's your _job_ now," Rhen reminded John, and Galahad grunted from beside the window.

"Ugh... I'd rather stick to orcs, if it's all the same to you."

Rhen opened her mouth to say something about the urgency of the demon problem, but she realized quickly that she'd have to explain how _she_ knew so much about it, and what her relationship was to the demons, and... well, if she said it out loud to anyone, she'd have to admit its veracity to herself. And she couldn't.

Instead, she said, "I think it's gotten a bit draftier in here."

 

 

 _"I have no interest in being_ sought _by anyone engaged in the practice of slavery."_

_"To hell with slavery, then! It's of no use anyway!"_

_"Oh, really? Then who's going to cook your meals and scrub your floors, pretty boy?"_

_"I will! Cooking is an art, you know! It engages you creatively."_

_"I don't believe I'm hearing this out of the mouth of the noble Tenobor brat whose underwear I washed."_

_"A lot can change over eight months."_

_"Oh... I keep forgetting how long it's been for... well, how long it's been since I left."_

_"You don't have to forgive me. Please just believe that I want to work with you now."_

_"Do my ears deceive me, or did young Prince Lars just say the word 'please'?"_

_"Don't make me regret it."_

 

 

A dented little sloop cut through the waters of the Eldredth Ocean with a favorable tailwind at the stern. Its voyage from the eastern continent had thus far spanned two days. This was the third.

Elini stood at the bow, drinking in the air through her mouth. "Mm... this is tropical wind. We near our destination."

Te'ijal stood just behind her, nose rooting through the air. "How can you tell?"

"It is warm, and it carries the scent of blossoming things."

Dameon stared up the mast, fidgeting with the end of a rope. "We're meant to arrive at the isles this afternoon," he confirmed.

Lars watched him. The priest had been acting strangely ever since they settled their ownership of the sloop and set sail for Veniara. To Lars, it seemed almost as if Dameon was... _anxious._ What worries and doubts nested behind that hardened brow, Lars couldn't begin to guess.

"We will not fit one more passenger aboard this vessel," complained Te'ijal. "It may drive me to madness."

"If you harm a single hair on Rhen Pendragon's head--"

"Oh, sun fool, I have little interest in the hairs upon a human's head." Te'ijal rolled her eyes.

 _"Do. Not. Touch. Her._ Is my meaning unclear to you, _animal?"_

"Dameon..." sighed Lars. Dameon never got along with the vampire, but there was an extra edge to his tone today.

"It...!" Dameon whipped around, and Lars caught the tail end of a blazing glare.

But the glare softened immediately when Dameon saw Lars' sympathetic frown. He relaxed his arms and straightened his back slowly before joining Lars on the bench.

"Tensions run a little high in such close quarters," offered Lars. Dameon nodded.

"I apologize for my outburst. It _would_ be wise to purchase a larger ship when we reach Veniara."

Lars hummed. "How much money do we have, all together?"

"We spent a lot of money paying that ferryman," said Elini.

"And before that, to build the cabin on this boat," pointed out Te'ijal.

"Maybe we can trade in the ferry," began Lars, but as he spoke, he remembered the poor condition of the sloop, and that their investment in the cabin would likely see no financial returns. No one in their right mind would buy this boat, not even to flip it; not even for timber.

Well, maybe a pirate would.

Dameon sighed through his nose. "We'll figure something out."

Lars could see the edge of Dameon's jaw jutting and twitching beneath his skin. _Te'ijal isn't the only thing bothering him right now._

"Dameon," he said, touching his friend's arm, "can I talk to you about something?"

"What is it?"

"Um... can we talk more privately?" Lars did his best not to heat up. This was a perfectly platonic matter between allies. He was concerned.

Dameon stood. "Of course. Please excuse us, Elini."

The new cabin was barely big enough for Lars, Dameon, and Elini to occupy comfortably (yet Te'ijal brought along Lars' nightingale anyway; she thought he would be sad without it). There was one trundle bed and floor space for a bedroll. Elini took the topmost mattress, while Lars slept between her and Dameon, who of course volunteered for the floor. They'd only been sleeping this way for two nights, but Lars knew he would miss the sound of Dameon's deep, slow breathing inches from his ear.

Lars sat on the upper bed, and Dameon sat on the lower, his shoulder around the height of Lars' knee. He angled his body to face Lars.

"What's the matter?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"That's what I'd like to ask." Lars held Dameon's eye. "There's something bothering you."

"I think we're all anxious to meet the princess and continue into the final stages of our quest."

 _Smooth as he ever was._ "You seem confident in that statement, but you really did look upset earlier. What else is going on?"

Dameon shook his head, a tiny smile gracing his lips. "I know how to tame my uncertainty and use it to strengthen me in my coming trials. I've been slacking. There's no reason to worry about me, but what about you?"

Lars was caught off-guard. He fidgeted with his hands. "I'm fine."

"I think you've been anxious," Dameon murmured. "Meeting Rhen... she's your hero, isn't she? And pushing forward into the Temple of Strength is a daunting concept. Aren't you afraid?"

Lars clenched his jaw. _Dameon... always asking you two questions for every one he doesn't answer._

But he had to admit that neither point was wrong. Meeting Rhen frightened him almost as much as the temple did. For all the daydreams and mystique he'd cultivated around her, he didn't have any idea what she would actually be like or whether she would like him at all. Whether she could forgive him.

"I guess I _am_ afraid," he answered at last, sighing around the words.

Dameon joined him on the upper bed, propped his hand behind Lars and rested his weight on it, and suddenly their legs were touching through their robes, and their ribs brushed together, and Lars' heart kicked into overdrive. He turned his head to stare over his shoulder at Dameon. Oh, _Goddess,_ that face, those eyes, those _lips--!_

Dameon's eyelids flickered for the briefest second, and he wet his ample lips like he had that morning atop Rona's roof when he wasn't quite sure what to say or whether he should say it. Lars froze in place, certain that if he allowed his body to move, he'd immediately regret what he would do. The boat swayed beneath them, and Lars imagined some cruel sea spirit trying to force him to lean in, to lean all the way in....

"Lars."

 _Don't be weird._ "Yes?"

"I..." Dameon turned his head away and looked down. From this angle, his hollow cheeks looked sunken and his eyes were dark. His hair draped over the side of his face like a thick curtain meant to block the rays of the sun. "I want you to know..."

He trailed off, and Lars worried. This was like nothing he'd seen from Dameon before. Something was truly wrong.

"I'm listening."

It would've been easy to miss the flinch, the pained blink that could've been mistaken for a normal one, but Lars missed nothing. Dameon's gaze remained downcast as he spoke. "I just want you to know that I... I've... every minute I've spent... with you, on this journey..."

Lars stopped breathing.

"...has been a true pleasure."

Dameon's image swam before him. A bubble of tension burst inside him, and he let it go. He hoped Dameon wouldn't see him choke.

That wouldn't be an issue, as Dameon rose without looking back at Lars and walked to the door. "Thank you, Lars," he said, his voice catching, and he left into the sunlight.

 

 

_"Honestly, I... I really don't want to do this. Saving the world. I'm terrified."_

_"The rest of us are, too."_

_"What would you be doing if you weren't saving the world right now?"_

_"Uh... I would probably be back at school."_

_"Shadwood?"_

_"Yeah. You know, I actually... ha, this sounds ridiculous when I say it, but... the night after you ran away, and you--you left me this note, see--I ran away from Rona's house, too."_

_"'RELAX'. I left this?"_

_"Yeah. And, um, it worked. I learned how to relax, and then, bam! I could do magic. Properly."_

_"You're kidding."_

_"Yeah. So I wanted to... to thank you. For that."_

_"Oh. Well... you're... now you're saying 'thank you', too?"_

 

 

"There we go."

Rhen heard a little _scrape-clatter_ and turned to see Peter squatting by the wall behind an empty crate. Puzzled, she squinted. Peter turned around, his face smudged with sandy dirt, and waggled a brick in one hand, his boot-knife in the other.

John snorted. "Are you really going to carve your way out of this cell one brick at a time? Marge will notice by the time she brings tomorrow's supper, and then she'll just increase our sentence."

"What is our sentence, exactly?" asked Rhen, perching on the crate beside Peter.

John shrugged.

Peter snorted. "Well that's just--"

"It's certainly shorter than the length of time it'll take you to dig a hole in the wall!" snapped John. "Safer to just smash the damned window, if you ask me."

"And... why haven't you done that yet?" Rhen rested her cheek in one hand.

"Galahad's in the way."

"I take exception to--!"

"Shut up. The real reason is because I tried that once. The stuff's nearly impossible to break, and it'll cut you up something awful, plus the pir--sailors are on you in seconds." John shook his head. "This cell is pretty much a fortress."

With a melodramatic groan, Rhen slumped back to rest her head on Peter's shoulder. He rubbed her hair with a soothing, grimy hand.

"I want to get out of here," grumbled Rhen.

John sighed. "Yeah, me too. I'm sorry. I don't want us snapping at one another anymore."

"Let's hear a story about you," suggested Peter, his tone mediatory.

"Hmmm." John sat on the floor in front of Rhen's crate, and she rose back up to look at him. His eye roamed the ceiling as if hunting for a tapestry of his exploits. "I've told you a lot of things already. You pretty much know my life story since the age of five."

"You've never told us about how you lost your eye," said Rhen.

John shivered involuntarily. "Ah... I don't think you want to hear that one, actually."

"'Twould make an excellent cautionary tale," muttered Galahad.

"Galahad..."

There was no response.

_"Shut. Up."_

The snarl on John's face told Rhen everything she needed to know.

She gulped. "Forget that. Tell us about the most fun you've ever had on a voyage."

"As a captain!" added Peter.

"Oh..." John grinned shakily, looked down. He seemed lost for words for a moment. "Uh, you already know that story."

Rhen smiled. "All right, the most fun you've had on a voyage as a captain before the age of twenty-eight."

"Now _there's_ a story!" John sat up straight, still grinning, and cracked his knuckles. "It involves sea goblins, and the deliberate rocking of our frigate, and an _excellent_ workout, and tactical obfuscation by way of terrible puns, and wrecking two ships at once, and--"

"Right, of _course_ it involves wrecking ships." Peter rolled his eyes.

"Listen, wrecking those ships was one of the best decisions I've ever made in my life!" John laughed. "Maybe you had to be there. _Everyone_ came out of it completely unharmed, by the way, so jot that down in your little book of judgments--"

"This was _fun_ to you?" puzzled Rhen.

"Well, you'd get it if you let me finish! Now--"

"I have to use the 'bathroom', so you have a minute to think a little harder about the answer to our question," said Peter, and he scooted behind the largest stack of barrels. Rhen and John stood and walked to the opposite end of the room to afford Peter some minimal privacy.

"There have to be simpler fun things you've done in your life," she said.

"Well, you didn't ask that! You wanted a story about a voyage."

Rhen scratched her head. "Yeah, I guess that's true."

"Not everything has to be a story, you know," he said, his voice lower.

"And not everything has to be a lesson," she countered.

He chuckled. "Yeah. You got me."

"Well... sailing is by far the most fun thing _I've_ ever done."

"I'm glad to hear that. It's really something, isn't it?"

"It's unlike anything else!" Rhen's eyes shone. "The ocean is another world. I always thought I'd feel _confined_ on a boat, but I don't at all. It's like I'm everywhere all at once."

John smiled at her, the skin under his eye crinkling softly. "Yeah. It's pretty incredible, isn't it?"

"Mhm."

"It's freeing. It opens up more possibilities than any landlocked traveler could begin to imagine. Ha... if you like sailing so much, I bet you'd love flying."

"There's so... much... wait... _flying?"_

Before Rhen could whip her head around to fix John with a baffled stare, the prison door creaked open, and someone stepped inside.

He wasn't terribly tall, but he was certainly taller than her, his figure concealed within a cascade of blue silken robes. There was a staff strapped to his back; he must have been a magic-wielder. When he stepped into the prison light, she saw that his face was lean and square, but the barest traces of childhood fat still clung to his cheeks, marking him as no older than her. His hair was the green of grass in late summer, and his chin sported the lightest dusting of springtime moss.

His hazel eyes sprang to her immediately, and he strode forward to meet the bars of the cell. Another stranger stepped into the threshold of the hut, but Rhen paid them no mind, her gaze fixed on this... boy?... who stared relentlessly as if he'd found the fountain of youth or the Dreamer's Tear in her thin hands. She crossed her arms. What business could he possibly have with her?

She glimpsed his throat as he swallowed, watched his brow as it knit and pulled. His lips parted finally, after the silence had begun to ring in her ears.

"Rhen?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Caution padded his tone, while insistence strained it. There was something dangerous here, something that burst through her hull and bore in sickening light through the splinters. She squinted against the cold in her veins.

"Do I know you?"

 

 

_"So where would you be if you weren't saving the world?"_

_"I was hoping you wouldn't ask me that."_

_"You probably shouldn't have asked it first, then. Wouldn't you go home?"_

_"'Home'? You mean to Clearwater? Psh."_

_"Right... I think I understand."_

_"Something's broken in me, Lars. Something poisoned me when I left Ghalarah. I don't know what 'home' feels like anymore. I'm not sure I ever will again."_

_"Maybe home is in the people you're with. I think that might be it for me, at least."_

_"Oh. You know... maybe that's right."_

 

 

Of course she wouldn't remember him. She'd spent five uncomfortable days doing her best to ignore him, and then she ran away, and that was all.

But it did sting.

Lars took a step back from the cell. He summoned as much strength as he had left in his lungs, which wasn't much, and he said, "M-my name is Lars. Lars, uh... Tenobor."

Recognition wracked her all at once. She gaped and glared and drew further back. "What could you _possibly_ want with me?" she spat. The one-eyed man leaning against the wall came forward and hovered behind her, staring Lars down with the simmering fury of a jaguar.

At last, Lars looked away. He couldn't do this. He couldn't--

"We're here to let you out," said a voice smooth as syrup just behind Lars. Dameon stood beside him, and his arm swept slowly up Lars' back, out of sight of the occupants of the cell. His sturdy hand came to rest just below Lars' shoulder. The support was appreciated; Lars felt now as if he might faint.

Rhen looked to Dameon, her expression growing less infuriated and more confused. "Has Marge sent you?"

Dameon stepped away from Lars, and their moment ended. Despite the humid, tropical air, Lars suddenly felt cold.

"No," said the priest as he unlocked the cell, "we came to find you ourselves."

"Why?" murmured John.

The cell door hung open, and Rhen wasted no time grabbing her pack and exiting. "These three are with me," she said, not looking Dameon or Lars in the eye as she headed for the pile of weapons near the door and snatched up her sword and knife. "Don't lock it again."

Peter and John scrambled to gather their things. Rhen glanced back. Galahad... hadn't even turned his head.

She sighed and made for the door, but she failed to turn her head in time and smacked directly into the sun priest as she buckled her sword to her belt. "Ah. Sorry," she mumbled, intending to walk past him, but he _bowed,_ and that made her stop.

"My sincerest apologies, my lady," he said in his surprisingly deep voice. He straightened back up and met her eye. "The circumstances under which we meet are less than dignified."

"Um... yeah."

He wouldn't drop her gaze. "My name is Dameon Maurva, and I am the druid of the sun. It is my duty and honor to meet you and aid you in the fulfillment of your destiny."

"Rhen." She offered her hand to shake his, but instead, he clasped it, drew it to his face, and kissed it despite the prison grime. Although the heat of awkwardness slithered into her cheeks, she successfully cracked most of a smile before retreating.

Galahad finally turned his head. "The sun druid?"

"May I come in, please?" sang a strangely accented voice. Rhen turned to see a woman, red of hair, her skin so pale it shimmered with plum undertones. Behind her was another woman, with darker skin, silver hair, and a whip coiled at her scantily-clad hip.

"Fine," said Lars, idly beckoning her inside. "Come in."

"Delightful!" The women stepped into the darkness. "Oh, the bounty of scents in this little room!"

"Remain at ease, my friend," said the second woman, her hand upon the shoulder of the first.

"It's getting a little crowded in here," said John. Instantly, the second woman's eyes snapped to him, and she swayed forward to cut him off from the door.

"Mm... you are a pirate, are you not?" she purred.

"Sometimes," replied John, his eyebrows raised in discomfort.

"Oh, how perfect. You may call me Elini."

Rhen pushed through the small throng to find Galahad, still by the window in the cell but finally looking out at the open door. He greeted her with a respectful nod.

"What's the matter, Galahad?"

He shook his head. "It is not meant to be like this."

"What's not meant to be like what?" Rhen pressed.

He said nothing.

"Well, I'm not leaving here without you, even if I don't understand what your problem is." She put a hand to his steel-plated arm.

"My lady," said a voice, and Rhen was a little baffled that the voice didn't belong to Galahad. She turned to see Dameon.

"Please don't call me that," she sighed. "I can barely take it from this fellow."

"As you wish." Dameon dipped his head, his hair shading half of his face for just a second. "I hoped to speak with you for a moment about our mission. I believe you may already know what it is we're here for, Rhen Pendragon."

Rhen looked down. She felt a little nauseated.

Startled, Galahad finally stood from the barrel. From his full height, he stared down at Rhen, his body blocking the light from the window.

_"Pendragon?"_

She nodded.

"So you do know." Dameon's voice was solemn, but kind. "We're here to help you, Rhen. You don't have to be alone through this."

"What if I want to be alone?"

"My lady, please excuse me." Galahad glanced at Dameon as he spoke. "Does this mean that you... you are a Pendragon, of the royal line of Thais?"

The tears came suddenly, as if they'd waited to ambush her. _It's really true._

Galahad lowered onto one knee and bowed his head. "Your majesty."

"Get up, Galahad; you're Sedonan." Rhen's voice was barely a whisper.

Dameon produced a handkerchief from a pocket of his robes and offered it to her with a courtly hand. She sniffed as she stared at it, then decided it wouldn't hurt to take it. The cloth was velvety against the skin under her eyes. When she opened them again and glanced to the door, she saw that John and Peter stood mere feet away, each with expressions as shocked as if they'd learned the world was ending.

Which, she reminded herself, it was.

 

 

_"So... tell me something about it, then."_

_"What? My old life?"_

_"Sure. Tell me about something recent, before... you know."_

_"Well... the day I was taken was the day of the maypole festival. Flowers, music, dancing, all sorts of food."_

_"Wait. We, um... you came to us in the middle of April. Not May."_

_"Clearwater has its spring festival at the beginning of April. Why?"_

_"Isn't it called a maypole because you use it in May?"_

_"I... actually never thought of that. Weird. I guess we just do things differently in Clearwater."_

_"'We'?"_

_"It's a hard habit to break."_

 

 

Rhen took a deep, shaky breath, trying to stabilize herself and calm her spinning head. She handed the handkerchief back to Dameon. "All right. I'll go with you. Guess it's... kind of important, isn't it, ha? But where are we going, exactly?"

Dameon angled towards the door. "Lars?"

But Rhen didn't see Lars in the hut anymore. Numbly, she followed Dameon out of the prison and into the afternoon sun. Peter was close by her side, scowling at Dameon.

Lars stood near the edge of the sandy cliff, staring down at the jungle below. His hands were in his pockets, one of them fidgeting a bit with something at his side. The wind blew Rhen's unwashed hair into her face, and she grimaced. _I must not look much like a princess right now._

"Lars," said Dameon, and Lars turned immediately to face him, coloring slightly as if embarrassed to be caught in introspection. "We should discuss where we need to go next."

Lars' eyes flicked from Dameon to Rhen, whose arms were crossed over her chest. _She looks... uncomfortable._

"This must be a lot to take in," he offered, and he immediately felt foolish; who was he to tell _her_ what was "a lot"? He sighed. "Um, well, I guess... we have a lot of options?"

Dameon swept in over Lars' disarray, as suave as could be. "The demons have yet to gain a strong foothold in the material realm, so we have time to recuperate and ready ourselves before attempting the next leg of our journey."

"No," said Rhen, surprising them both. She shook her head emphatically. "Whatever progress you've already made, we don't stop moving now."

John (rather, Lars assumed he was John, and was perplexed that he wore no red coat) emerged from the jail, followed by Elini. Peter, or the red-haired boy Lars assumed was Peter, wrapped an arm around Rhen's back. Lars watched her curiously as she relaxed.

"In that case, rather than returning to our headquarters in Sedona or taking you to see the Oracle in Aveyond, we can press on and rescue the two remaining druids." Dameon gave her an encouraging smile. "Your bravery and resilience are nothing short of spectacular, Rhen."

Lars' gut curdled as Dameon spoke, but Rhen displayed no reaction to the priest's forwardness. "I just want to keep moving. Where's the next druid?"

As Elini opened her mouth to speak, a sudden, horrified scream burst from the jail. Rhen's eyes widened, and she immediately dashed back inside. Lars followed as quickly as he could, with Elini on his heels.

Te'ijal stood in the middle of the cell, grinning from ear to ear. Galahad was pressed as flat as he could manage against the window on the far wall. One gauntleted hand was on the hilt of his sword.

"STAY AWAY FROM HER!" he commanded, his voice an octave higher in terror. "This woman bears the stench of evil!"

Elini put her hands on her hips and tutted. "Oh, no, Te'ijal, you have forgotten to wipe behind your ears again. You know the blood sometimes dries back there."

Lars frowned. "So _that's_ what that smell is."

"Whatever dark heresies this creature embodies..." Galahad thrust a quivering finger out at Te'ijal. "She will murder us! She strives to destroy the light!"

Rhen looked at Te'ijal, troubled, and Lars rolled his eyes. "Sir knight, that is a _vampire._ She's traveling with us. She enjoys the light, and she's saved my life more than once."

"A vampire!" Galahad tried to scoff, but produced more of a nervous titter. "Boy, now is not the time for fairy tales!"

"Um, Galahad?" Rhen coughed. "Remember when we rescued Danny?"

"My lady?"

"And... we were in Ghed'ahre? Halloween Hills? Where all of the vampires live?"

"You--you cannot be serious, my child--"

"We were in their _pantry,_ Galahad! We found him on that table, half his blood drained!"

"A... demonic ritual--!"

"So demons exist, but not vampires?" Rhen rubbed her forehead. "You know what--fine, Galahad. Fine."

Te'ijal licked her red lips. "You do not _believe_ in vampires, _'Sir Galahad'?"_

"You cannot beguile me, witch!"

"Oh, no, no." Elini laughed. "The witches live in New Witchwood. That is the town over from Ghed'ahre."

"Are you all affected by this mass delusion?!" Galahad looked on the verge of tears.

Rhen sighed. She tapped Te'ijal on the shoulder.

"Hmm?" The vampress turned to face her with a smile.

Rhen stuck out her hand. "I'm Rhen. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Delighted, the vampress took Rhen's hand with the gentility of someone who didn't quite know how one is supposed to shake a hand, and allowed Rhen to grasp it. "I have heard much of you, Rhen Pendragon! My name is Te'ijal Ravenfoot of Ghed'ahre. I hope we may be friends."

Rhen shot Galahad a stern glance.

Lars chuckled despite himself. _She really knows how to get things done._

Galahad exhaled heavily and extracted himself from the wall. He walked stiffly to stand a few feet away from Te'ijal; then, he rigidly bobbed a few inches from the waist, making an attempt at a polite bow.

"My name is Sir Galahad Teomes. If you harm any of my companions, I shall smite you with the fury of the Goddess Herself."

Her eyelashes fluttered as she stared up at him, fangs clearly visible in her open-mouthed smile. "Charmed," she breathed, her hand at her cheek.

"When Sir Yellowtrousers is finished hollering, we ought to get moving," called John from beyond the doorway. "If we're getting a new ship, we'll need to buy it before the market closes or we'll have to stay at the tavern overnight. And nobody wants that."

 

 

_"So what's up with Dameon? Does he flirt with every girl he's just met?"_

_"In my experience? Not at all. I've never seen him flirt with anyone before."_

_"Somehow that only makes me less comfortable."_

_"Not your type, huh?"_

_"I'm not sure I even have a 'type', to be honest. I was close with a boy from Clearwater once--not Peter, I'm definitely not_ his _type--but I wasn't really feeling what I thought I was feeling. And I don't think I even want to feel it anymore."_

_"You're clearly a stronger mage than I, speaking in these arcane tongues."_

_"Love is arcane to me, so I guess magic is relative."_

_"Ha... sure."_

_"I'm surprised I can speak to you easily like this."_

_"Glad-surprised?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"I am, too."_

_"Good."_

_"Um... could I maybe talk to you about... something arcane?"_

 

 

After pooling all of the money they had between the eight of them, John reasoned that they would have enough to buy a sturdy three-masted something-or-other at the market if they traded in the sloop. He, his volunteer Elini, and Elini's charge, Te'ijal, took the oddly familiar sloop to the market isle while Rhen waited behind in the tavern with Lars, Peter, Galahad, and Dameon. Rhen was concerned that Marge would promptly arrest them again when they walked in, but John was confident that she wouldn't give a whit, and she didn't.

"Welcome back, Triple Platinum Stripe Captain of the Sedonan Royal Naval Guard," she snorted, and she shooed the sailors clustered at the bar so Rhen and her entourage could sit together. "Can I get you a drink, or perhaps some disenfranchised mariners?"

Rhen turned a little red. "Five ice-waters, and maybe some crisps," she said.

Marge set to work filling five tankards with water. "I don't have any 'maybe some' crisps, but I've got some 'yes crisps' somewhere in the back."

"Yes crisps," sighed Peter.

"All righty. And it looks like I have a few hot meals prepared for some folks out in the jail. Maybe the five of you could do me a little favor and take care of that business, hm?"

Galahad grimaced. "I am not certain we could afford--"

"Oh, shut up, tighty-knighty; I was gonna give 'em to you for free if you were still in there, anyway."

"Thank you, Marge," called Rhen as the barmaid darted to the kitchen.

Dameon chuckled beside her. "Interesting. She seems fond of her inmates."

"It's pirate jail," muttered Peter. "Not regular jail."

Rhen shrugged. "Right. What he said."

"Well, it could be that," said Dameon, "or it could be that you're no regular inmate."

Lars swirled the chilled water in his tankard and tried not to make glum sounds in his throat. There was no mincing it: he despised that Dameon had taken a sudden, obviously romantic interest in Rhen, and all he could do was will that she remained as utterly uncaptivated as she presently seemed. It burned him alive, especially after... whatever it was... that had occurred between them in the sloop's cabin, and whatever it was that had occurred between them on Rona's roof. The inscrutable druid wasn't easy to read, but Lars had believed, _really_ believed at last, that he'd read something ardent in the moments between them.

_I guess I was wrong._

He shivered. This... this was what he'd felt that first day, when he walked into that Sedonan saloon and walked out with far too much whiskey. This was the feeling he'd tried so hard to cover up.

Marge came back with five plates of food, which no one questioned. On the plates, there was some sort of red meat, some sort of white meat, some sort of mashed vegetable, and a whole lot of wilted green stuff, all of it slicked with exactly the correct amount of grease. It was hot and incredibly tasty. He'd never cooked anything so delicious over their campfires--maybe he should learn.

John finally returned as Rhen and Peter were licking their plates clean. He slid onto the empty barstool next to Peter.

"Ahoy, mateys; we're back!" he exclaimed.

"Did you get a ship?" asked Rhen, perking up.

"Of course we got a ship! The cutest little barque you ever did see. Loads of room belowdecks."

"So what's wrong with her?"

"Must you doubt me so? She's perfect, vi; just come out and see her."

Marge popped her head out from the kitchen. "Is that my old boy John?"

"I'm not your old boy, old lady." John rolled his eye.

"Good to see you out of jail, Johnny. Hope you learned a lesson or two in there."

"Yeah, like never to come to this bar again."

"Fine; I'll keep this hot dinner I so graciously wrapped up for you. Where are you going, anyway?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but we're going to save the world."

"Ooh." Marge dropped a little picnic basket on the bar in front of John. "Here's your dinner, hon."

"Great."

"You know, I wouldn't mind coming with you for a nominal fee." Marge's face grew sly.

John tented his eyebrows. "Mm, no, we're good."

Marge scowled and busied herself with the liquor against the wall. "All right; go without me, then. And you'd better bring me my basket back."

"Elini and Te-ji-jal--did I say that right?--are still waiting on the ship, so we should head out," said John, ignoring Marge. "We have a couple hours before it gets dark. It's only a day's sail from here to the southern continent."

"Nobody left anything behind in the prison, right?" asked Rhen. Galahad glanced at the pack on his shoulder to make sure it was still there, and Peter shook his head. Rhen hopped to her feet.

"I think we're ready," said John. He and Rhen exchanged a determined smile.

"Good. Let's go save the world."

 

 

Late that night, when five intrepid adventurers were asleep belowdecks and one vampire relaxed in the crow's nest, Rhen and Lars sat on the deck, leaning against opposite sides of the foremast.

They'd been quiet for a while now, Rhen gazing into the ample staysails at the bow, Lars staring up at the twinkling sky, his neck craned. It took about an hour after their frosty confrontation for them both to realize they had far, far more in common than either could ever have guessed.

"I have to ask you something, Lars," Rhen said.

"What?"

"Would you do it all again? If you knew what would happen?"

Lars was silent for a long time. Rhen wondered if he'd fallen asleep with his neck crooked like that. Then,

"I would. I'd do it all better."

Rhen nodded to herself. "Even the painful parts?"

"Especially those parts."

"The way you think is pretty extraordinary," Rhen murmured. "I hope I can be like that one day."

Lars felt as if he might float off the deck. He swallowed once and cleared his throat to tie himself back down.

"You know, I was a little scared to meet you," he said, bold in his sudden pride.

Rhen laughed gently. "No way."

"Yes! I... look, I sort of idolized you when I was learning magic. My magic wasn't worth anything until you left that note on my door, and then I thought of it all the time, and I thought of _you,_ and that inspired me to become as good as I am now."

"Just because I told you to relax?"

"I guess it sounds silly."

"No... not at all; I can't say that." Rhen looked up. "It's just that I don't really know any magic."

Lars started. Still sitting, he scrambled around the side of the mast to stare at Rhen. "Excuse me?"

Rhen snickered at his surprise. "You heard me. I'd never cast a spell in my life when I left that note. It was just a feeling I had. You know, like... how to float when you're in water."

"But you're supposed to be a master sword singer!"

"'Master'? Hardly. When the wristband came off, I sort of... harnessed it in a moment of desperation. Since then, I've been teaching myself what to do. I've been decent at singing my whole life, and all the swordfighting motions are more or less like dancing."

Lars shook his head in disbelief. "That's incredible."

"So... are you really that good now?"

"I was at the top of my class, and my mentors--ah, Dameon--recommended me for early affirmation," explained Lars, his voice smug. "And I've defeated more than a few demons--but, actually, just look."

Lars shut his eyes, and Rhen blinked, and suddenly she was alone in the apple orchard beneath Clearwater in daylight. She jumped back in shock and heard an indignant _squeak_ behind her as a little squirrel ran away. Gazing around, she watched little white butterflies flutter around the stoic trees. The grass felt dewy beneath her and the air smelled of overripe apples.

And then she was on the ship again, and Lars squeezed his eyelids tight before opening them again.

He smirked. "How was that?"

"I--I--wh-- _how_ \--oh my _gods--"_

"That good, huh?"

"Was I really there?" She knew immediately it was a stupid question; it would be nighttime in Clearwater if it was nighttime on the ship.

"It was an illusion! I'm getting pretty good at those, and they're useful in combat, too."

"That was-- _wow."_

"I've been there, which helps."

Rhen grinned. "You've been to Clearwater?"

"Yes. Oh, that reminds me. Um, sorry to take the mood down."

Lars reached back into his pocket and fished around. From it, he drew a ring.

"This belongs to you."

Rhen took the ring from him. It was made of silver, she guessed. On it was inscribed a strange seal the likes of which she'd never seen before. In the center was an ornate letter "P".

She swallowed and looked back up at Lars. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He watched as she tucked the ring into a secure pocket in her hip satchel.

They smiled at one another for a moment, trying to cool the grim air between them. Lars saw the kid in her, the insecurity behind the confident facade, and in it, he saw himself.

"So you've been to Clearwater," Rhen said.

"Not for long," Lars admitted. "We were only there to look for you."

"Did you like it?"

"We didn't have much time to sample the hospitality, but I think I'd like to in the future."

Rhen looked up at the stars, her mind full of apples. "Hmm... oh, when you go back, you _have_ to try Mrs. Baker's Clearwater-famous apple juice! It's so crisp."

(If she'd looked, she would have seen Lars' face turn as green as his hair.)

"Apples are pretty much all that stands out about Clearwater," she continued. "Everything else there is pretty normal, I guess."

"Normal is nice, in small doses," said Lars.

Rhen yawned. "I suppose."

Now sitting beside one another, they grew silent for a time. Rhen nodded off, her head finding a place to rest against Lars' shoulder. He didn't dare move for fear of waking her, but he was terribly tired, and soon, he was asleep, too, his green hair draping over her lavender.

That was how John found them when he woke to navigate long before the sunrise. With a fond smile, he went back belowdecks and returned with a blanket large enough to cover them both.


	24. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work hard. Party harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for teenage drinking, alcohol abuse, slavery.  
> LANGUAGE WARNING for this chapter! Rest assured, however, that Rhenegade will NEVER contain slurs.
> 
> Another long chapter. When I outlined my chapters before writing, I planned for far too much to happen in this one. That said, this is easily one of my favorite chapters now, for SO MANY reasons.

Te'ijal's high cheekbones rose close to her bright eyes as she squinted out across the eastern horizon. She perched on the bowsprit, keeping her balance with no apparent effort. Rhen and Peter stood behind her, safe on the deck of the ship.

"A wicked storm is churning in the faraway skies," she called, her voice sharp and clear against the wind.

Peter looked up. "Just a little rain," he predicted; "nothing we haven't weathered before."

Te'ijal shook her head. "East, my pigeon. Far east."

They'd been sailing south since the evening prior. The morning sun was masked by stoic clouds, but nothing that concerned (Captain) John at all. They were meant to arrive quite soon; in fact, Elini currently sat in the crow's nest and was to alert them as soon as she saw land through John's telescope. She was excited to return home to Veldt even though she had yet to find an enticing marital candidate abroad.

Rhen squinted to the east, struggling to match Te'ijal's keen eyesight. "Do you mean east near Veldarah?"

"Farther. Northeast, over what I think to be Thais. A massive darkness tinged with red."

"Red..." Peter shuddered a little, not escaping Rhen's notice. She took his hand.

"The demons are rising."

Rhen and Peter jumped when they heard Lars speak behind them. He shrugged apologetically, then looked up to Te'ijal to confirm his suspicion.

"You speak true," said Te'ijal.

Rhen stared down at the scuffed toes of her boots. There they were--the demons. Waiting for her. The whole world was waiting for her.

"Are you ready for this?" whispered Peter in her ear.

She didn't have a chance to answer. Impassive as could be, Te'ijal told them, "You must be ready. A ship approaches from the north."

Rhen furrowed her brow, trying to shield herself against the rising dread. "And?"

"It is crewed by demons."

Peter seemed to choke on the misty air, and Rhen reeled backward until she nearly fell down the steps, but within seconds, each had their weapon drawn, dull in the shadow of the clouds. Elini hollered wordlessly from the crow's nest. The enemy ship's sharp bow pierced the fog to the port side, and the bottom dropped from Rhen's stomach.

The first demon flowed through the air, propelled like a sugar glider by membranes between its protracted limbs, before impaling itself neatly on Galahad's axe.

"WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!" he bellowed.

Rhen and her rapier vaulted over the forecastle railing. She belted out a battle note, and within seconds, she was lost to the song.

She cut down demon after demon as they leaped onto the ship, some meeting her blade in midair and dying before hitting the deck. They were hideous creatures, their faces those of gargoyles, their eyes the blazing red of infernal rubies. She thought nothing--nothing, nothing--as she slaughtered them--they were nothing more than the trees or the birds, less than the dryads she'd snuffed, a pittance in the eyes of morality. Not a soul to be mourned.

But she was shaking, she realized, when she felt Lars' spine at her back and craned her neck to see his green hair sweeping this way and that as he guarded her six.

Lars was no stranger to the destruction of the abyssal. He knew which spells mercifully gated demons back to their masters, and which spells annihilated them entirely, disintegrating them from their reptilian toes to the spines crowning their ghastly heads. He opted for the latter. These weren't human creatures. Their only thoughts and desires were for the benefit of their depraved master.

He stopped short of freezing the skin of a red imp by the mainmast, but Rhen's shrill magic sliced it in two before it could move into the fray. Elini yelled in frustration.

"Do not touch my summons, _urchin!"_

Rhen glanced up and winced. Lars halted a demon in midair, turned his head an inch, and said in Rhen's ear, "Leave the red ones." She nodded and made mincemeat of the beast he'd ensnared.

John was fighting by the mizzenmast, loath to stray far from the ship's wheel. He beat back an ugly fiend before glaring up at the crow's nest.

"Seriously? _Seriously?"_ He shot a perplexed look at Lars, who responded with the briefest of shrugs. "Summoning demons to fight demons?! Why doesn't she just use the _gigantic barbed whip_ she's carrying around?"

"This is quickest," snapped Elini. One of her imps exploded into several square feet of blue flame; when the smoke cleared, half a dozen lesser demons were gone and only a sooty mark marred the deck of the ship.

"Watch the timber!" John shouted anyway.

The demons' warp-hulled, alien-rigged boat came closer into view and suddenly began to tack hard. Rhen's eyes went wide. _Were_ the demons planning to ram the barque? Did... did demons even _plan?_ Were they that intelligent?

Rhen didn't have time to wonder as Peter skewered a dark imp which nearly stabbed a spiked polearm above her clavicle. It reeled back and caught its weapon in her shirt, ripping through the fabric like paper. Rhen gaped in shock, staring at Peter, whose eyes were as wide as hers.

"Stay with us," demanded Peter, his voice high with fear.

John finally abandoned the mizzenmast, scrambling to the port side of the barque, his arms and sword held aloft to balance against the ship's wearing. His eye grew wide, too, as he saw what Rhen had seen.

"Are they _clubhauling?!"_ John whipped to face Rhen. "Do you see this?!"

Rhen swallowed. "We have to get out of here!"

"If they wanted to ram us, they'd have done it by now!" cut in Peter, hurling another imp into the ocean. "They're trying to board us!"

It took John only one glance at the demons' ship to realize Peter was right. His face hardened, although his eye gleamed with terror. "They _are_ trying to board us!" he shouted, and Lars unconsciously backed further into Rhen, pressing against her like a wall.

"What do we do?" he shouted back, trying his best not to sound mortified as the starboard side of the enemy ship grew nearer.

John wasted no time standing around. He bounded back up to the quarterdeck and grabbed the wheel, and as he ran, he hollered out orders.

"ELINI! Te'ijal! Switch stations! Te'ijal, you have enough arrows to snipe from there? Good! Elini, no more demons! Galahad, I need you on the anchor winch! Peter, cover me! Lars, Elini, Dameon; keep them off midship! Rhen?"

Rhen met his eye.

"You're my rigging monkey."

She blew out a short breath of relief. "Ready, captain!" she hollered, and the rest of their fellowship echoed her call.

"Foremast! Brace about! Mind those clews, vi; steady hand!"

"Aye!"

Rhen hugged the foremast, feeling its stability within her arms and clinging with all her might. The yard was sturdy beneath her feet and the lines hardy in her hands. Tacking wouldn't take long; the step of a dancer was nimble and swift, and she had a _vivace_ thrumming in her chest. She knew what to do.

Lars didn't have a hard time dodging Elini's whip as it slashed from one demon to the next. He was used to her performance, oddly practical in its fluidity. He cast spell after spell, and he could feel his throat grow hoarse and his breathing ragged. Adept mage he was, but he didn't possess endless reserves of mana.

He didn't expect Dameon to spin him around and take the place at his back recently covered by Rhen. The druid tossed a potion over his shoulder and Lars caught it, barely, fumbling in surprise.

"Drink that, fast as you can," called Dameon as he summoned a shield that would protect them both from harm. Lars didn't have time to express his gratitude--he popped open the bottle, chugged it, sputtered a little as he forgot to breathe, and hurled the empty bottle at an imp clambering up the stairs to harass Captain John. It connected with its target, and the imp collapsed, unconscious.

"Thanks," Lars breathed as he spun his staff back into action, and Dameon nodded, pulling back to starboard.

Arrow after arrow whizzed down from the crow's nest, picking off smaller demons and slowly wearing down larger fiends. Te'ijal was precise in her aim, tearing through wings or picking out eyes when she wanted. It seemed she could see everything. Everything except the demon archer on the crows' next opposite her, its cruel bow drawn with three flaming arrows aimed directly at her.

Rhen saw, and she shrieked "LOOK OUT!" to the mast aft of her, but it was too late; the arrows flew true. Te'ijal dove out of the way, clinging to the far end of the crows' nest, and she wasn't hit--but the nest was. The demon sneered with a fearsome, toothy grin as Te'ijal's post burst into flames.

It didn't have long to gloat. With a screech of rage, the spirit of Indra burst from Elini's palm, freezing over the demon archer and shattering it from within. Shards of bloody ice burst from the demons' crows' nest, slicing and impaling the creatures still swarming out from the inexhaustible lower deck.

The barque's mainmast burned quickly, canvas sails consumed within seconds by the hungry, infernal blaze. The demons on deck were chattering with glee even as they were decimated by Lars and Elini. Rhen came to a standstill on the gallant, strung high between two lines like a marionette; her knees were wavering, and she felt for the first time like she might fall.

John, however, seemed as ready for the burning mainmast as he'd ever seemed for anything. He bared his teeth and leaned over the railing to glare at the anchor winch.

"Galahad!"

There was still a hint of begrudging spirit in Galahad's voice as he snapped to attention. "Yes, captain!"

"It's 'aye', _greenie!_ Put that axe to use! Chop down the mainmast!"

Lars gaped.

Galahad did, too. "What in the name of the--"

"I GAVE YOU AN ORDER, YOU MILK-BLOODED FOP! NOW, SMARTLY!"

The paladin had no response to that. He drew his axe and dashed to the mainmast. The flames had nearly reached the deck, and the mast wavered, timber splintering from within. Te'ijal screamed once, but no one was completely certain it wasn't a peal of laughter. Galahad hacked at the wood one, two, three times.

Without warning, John darted out to port side. He glanced frantically at the barrels left on deck, fixed his sight on one, and grabbed it. Disregarding the flames roaring high above him, he smashed the barrel open on the deck. The scent of vinegar flooded Lars' nostrils, and he saw what could only be an array of deeply-soaked pickles propelled wildly across the deck in a pool of greenish liquid. Vinegar coated the wood from rail to mast where the barrel had burst.

"WHAT ON AIA ARE YOU DOING?" hollered Galahad.

John slid away from the vinegar towards the quarterdeck. "HERE! MAKE IT FALL HERE!"

"WHAT--I--I CANNOT CONTROL THE _TRAJECTORY_ OF--"

"WELL, _GALAHAD,_ I DON'T HAVE ANY MORE _FUCKING PICKLES!"_

With that, and a grand, desolate _creak,_ the mainmast fell. Bow in hand, Te'ijal leaped like a cat from the falling tower, shot an arrow at the demons' ship on her way down, and landed on her graceful toes. The flames which destroyed the mast were mercifully doused in the vinegar now dripping into the ocean, and the mast itself cracked in half, its excess toppling into the ocean. Lars let out a breath he very much knew he was holding and Rhen nearly tumbled from the foremast in relief.

"We're not done yet," growled John.

"Orders, captain?" chirped Te'ijal.

John looked over his shoulder. They had avoided being boarded by the demon ship, but with only two masts, that luck couldn't last long. He glanced port side, then starboard.

"Te'ijal. What do you see?"

"Why, those beautiful, tall rocks, of course!"

Lars squinted through the fog before the mast. He could _just_ make out the indistinct shapes of dark objects jutting from the sea into the air, higher even than the former mainmast. He shivered.

John nodded, grim. "That's what I thought. Vi!"

"Aye?" called Rhen from her dizzyingly high perch. Lars didn't think he'd ever understand how she could stand up there.

"Wind dance! Cheerly; come on down if you want."

Rhen shook her head. The wind stirred her shoulder-length hair, lashing a short side braid against her cheek, and she let go of a line to brush it from her face. "I've got it up here. Way more wind, anyway."

"Be careful!" called Peter. Lars swallowed.

For now, the demons had stopped launching themselves between decks, instead jeering and approaching the barque far more quickly than she could sail away. Lars tore his eyes from the demons' ship and stared up at Rhen. She drew her sword with ease and stayed perfectly balanced with only one line in her hand. When she began twirling and twisting down the yard like a tightrope with her sword as a balance pole, Lars felt as if he might vomit.

But he could _hear_ her music, even if he couldn't hear the tune she hummed to herself all those dozens of feet in the air. Something about her rhythm was infectious. His head swayed as he watched, and he almost didn't notice the waves of wind pulsing from her sword, clearing the fog from the air before the barque. There they were--the rocks.

"We are nearing the shallows," murmured Elini, "but not where we are meant to be."

"The demons drove us off-course," growled Galahad.

"We have to lose them," said John, his voice firm. "We have to, we can, and we will. We can make them crash into these rocks. We can even lead them to shore and fight them on land. If we make it there first, we have the advantage. Whatever happens now--" he stared Galahad directly in the eyes "--we _win."_

Peter rubbed his face. "If you say so."

"That didn't sound like an 'aye aye' to me, Cedar."

_"Aye,_ captain." Peter paused. "Oh, I'm sorry; did you want _two_ 'aye's?"

"Mizzenmast!" John barked. Peter groaned, and John waved him away. "That's what you get when you disrespect the captain. Galahad! Back to the winch, and keep that axe close! Lars, Elini, Dameon, Te'ijal--the deck is yours. Clear off what's left of the mast."

"How do we look?" called Rhen from above.

John turned his face to her with a smile and gave her one thumb up. "Gorgeous, violet. Now, back on the lines! Strike sail!"

"Aye aye!"

The silence in the rocky shallows was tense as Rhen and Peter struck sail. They knew the demons' ship wasn't far behind them, as they could still hear the cackling and howling of their adversaries. John navigated the barque between the gigantic brown rocks. He seemed confident he could beach the ship in the shallows without damaging her--if they were diligent.

When the sails were struck, Rhen and Peter descended from the masts to stand on the main deck with the other five of their party. John was intent on his navigation and didn't move from the wheel.

Rhen sought out Lars in the lull before the shore, but Dameon caught her first. "Your courage is remarkable!" he said, his eyes wide. "And... a little reckless, I must say!"

She smirked. "That's what I aim for."

"I was thinking... it might be beneficial if you showed me around the rigging of a ship sometime."

Rhen closed her eyes to stop herself from rolling them. Surely _this_ wasn't the Dameon with whom Lars was so enamored. Lars could keep him.

"If you want to learn how to sail, John is a much better teacher than I am."

"Well--perhaps... we ought to exchange our magical knowledge, instead?"

"Can't do it. Don't have any."

Dameon was taken aback. "Wh... I...."

"Self-taught," Lars reminded him.

"That's... as valid and impressive an approach as any!" fumbled Dameon.

Lars put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm teaching her now."

Dameon blinked in shock. Rhen smiled smugly and nodded. "Sorry."

"It would delight me," sighed Dameon, "to observe your mentorship."

"Oh... why not. Just don't get in the way."

Lars chuckled. "Yeah, you know me. We'll probably blow some things up."

At this, Dameon couldn't help but chuckle, too.

"They're gaining on us!" shouted Te'ijal from the stern, interrupting their conversation. "We may be in danger!"

"Aye!" John called back. "We'll have to be ready! Mages, anything you can do to slow them down?"

Even at full mana, Lars and Elini couldn't stop an entire ship. They grimaced at one another. "We could maintain the fog cover," suggested Lars, but as he said it, he knew the idea bordered on pathetic.

"Save your... magicky stuff, then! All hands alert!"

It unnerved Rhen that she couldn't see their pursuers. She gazed at the great rocks as they slowly passed, too anxious to marvel. Lars stuck close to her left side, his arm brushing her shoulder, and Peter did the same at her right, where she held her sword. She trembled and wished she could hold his hand instead.

The barque approached a truly tremendous rock on the starboard side. It was easily twice as long as the ship and three times as high. Birds roosted near the top, and at its summit where it met the sea, sharp-looking shellfish clung like armor. A strange, high-pitched voice floated by in the still air, echoing against the cliffs' surfaces. Rhen's ears strained for it, but even when she could hear it more clearly, she couldn't identify the language spoken. It sounded oddly melodic.

"I... I believe I hear a singer," called Te'ijal, her statement more of a question.

"We can hear it, too," said Lars.

Rhen squinted as if that would make the song easier to hear, stepping forward to the scorched and vinegary port-side railing. There was something about the song, some odd repetition that set her on edge. It was almost like... like the songs she used in battle... like a spell.

_KRAKOOM._

Rhen staggered backwards as the ship wore to starboard. Before them erupted an enormous whirlwind of water, several stories tall; something almost humanoid in shape, like a spirit of the ocean--and it was enraged.

Rhen, Lars, and Peter could only stand there together, breathless, staring out at the spirit to port. Rhen thought she heard a single high note, held like an aria, and then Elini hollered, "THEY'VE SUMMONED A--"

And then they could hear nothing but water and wood as the elemental grabbed the barque in one hand and hurled her against the rock to starboard. Rhen had heard the sounds before--the crunching, the creaking, the cracking and groaning--but then, there was no ocean beneath them--nothing but air--

 

 

Taking a deep breath of clean air was Lars' first mistake. The sand in his chest threatened to drown him all over again. He choked heavily and hacked as if he might prolapse his esophagus. Involuntary tears streamed from his eyes.

Rhen was behind him in seconds, whacking his back with her palm, and sand flew from his mouth, catching his nose and his dripping hair. He tried to groan.

"There, now; I can see you'll be fine," she said, continuing to slap his hunched spine. "I've done this a few times."

Lars coughed in response. A tiny seashell shot from his mouth.

"In case you're wondering, the demons sailed off," she continued. He was, in fact, wondering, but between her pounding hand and his indisposed voice box, there was no way he could have said so. "I think they decided we were all dead. The barque is in splinters."

"Di--" _cough, cough._ "Did--" _wheeze, choke, retch._ "I--is ev--"

"Shh, shh. Don't talk. Everyone is fine."

She looked a mess, too. That awful blue shirt she wore surely wouldn't survive another battering, torn and saturated with salt as it was. The ends of her hair splayed inelegantly across her exposed shoulders. But she was smiling. Lars tried to pull a quizzical face. _Why on Aia are you smiling?_

She just kept smiling. "Now, as soon as you're all clear, if you wouldn't mind telling me your birthday."

John trudged up behind her, rubbing his forehead. "All right here?"

"All right, Cap!"

"That is _so_ informal." John rolled his eye.

Lars' throat felt rough, but air could now steadily flow from his mouth to his lungs. He took a slow breath this time before speaking.

"What in the Underworld do we do now?"

John tutted. "Such language."

"Well, we're on the southern continent, so I'm not sure I see the problem." Rhen sounded chipper, but Lars had to wonder whether her attitude was for his sake. "We just... go do the thing that we were going to do!"

"And _then?"_

"And then what?"

"Exactly!" Lars coughed.

"Oh. Well, we'll figure something out. Always do." Still smiling, Rhen looked to John, who was not smiling.

John sighed. "Yep. Always do. Once everyone can walk on two feet, we should look around."

It didn't take long. Te'ijal said she saw Galahad hide the lower half of his head inside his armor like a turtle when the ship connected with the cliffs. Elini was untroubled by sand, and Dameon fixed himself up quickly. Peter, although less experienced in the art of disaster than Rhen or John, had an impressive resilience about him. Elini led the party to the docks on foot across the cracked, hot earth. No one felt much like chatting--which worked in their favor as they approached the port and Te'ijal told them to halt.

"Demons," she whispered.

Lars blanched. "Again?"

"They have taken the docks. Human bodies litter the wood and stone. I smell a great deal of blood."

"Lunch?" whispered John.

Te'ijal wrinkled her nose. "You jest. The blood of the already deceased? Blood which has been _removed_ and has _sat about--?"_

"Enough," snapped Dameon.

"Hush," whispered Elini. "I knew these men. They would not have fallen easily."

"What should we do?" Rhen was barely audible.

"We must travel north," Elini responded. "We will find aid in Veldt."

"There's a druid in the caves to the east," said Dameon.

"And we will rescue her when we are not soaked to the bone. Come."

The group turned tail and hiked north, where the flat earth became gently rolling dunes. The brown cliffs and mountains climbed on either side of the path as the travelers cut their way easily through coyotes and gigantic scorpions. It was difficult to flank and fight with eight at a time, so Dameon and Lars cast light magic spells on their party from a distance while Galahad and Peter watched for approaching enemies. As a whole, they were far too skilled for common wildlife to match.

They marched past the tallest of the western cliffs with Elini in the lead. She glanced to her left and chuckled. "When last I was at home, I heard rumors of a _dragon_ residing in those caves, long enough for _ten men_ to sit astride!"

"Dragons are _real?"_ whispered Lars.

"Hey, violet." There was a conspiratorial grin on John's face that danced through his voice. "If you think you'd enjoy flying... heh, now's your chance."

Rhen squinted at him. "Are you kidding me, John?"

"What, me? When have I _ever?_ But, no, actually, I'm at least halfway serious."

"And who--" Rhen choked out her words between incredulous laughter _"--who,_ exactly, is going to captain _that_ thing?"

"Me, obviously."

About half the party snickered to hear this, and the other half--including Rhen, because she knew him well enough to tell when he was being serious--stopped dead in their tracks. Galahad, who didn't believe in dragons, kept walking in silence.

_"You?"_

"Y-y-y-yes?"

_"Since when can you ride a dragon?!"_

"Remember that story I almost told you about sea goblins and crashing ships and whatever?"

"Hardly!"

"Well, you never let me get to the good part." John shrugged. "That was the good part."

Dameon's eyes were so wide they could've popped out if they got any wider. Te'ijal ran ahead to apprehend Galahad, who continued to walk. Elini's mouth hung ajar. Peter excused himself, then walked twenty feet toward the cliff face and burst into uncontrolled hysterics.

It was Lars who cleared his throat, with his eyebrows raised in dubiety. "Come on; we have a lot to do. Nobody's riding any dragons anywhere."

 

 

Elini's house was _enormous._ It seemed to Rhen that Elini lived in more palatial a home than the king of Sedona. She couldn't help but shrink into herself a little as they walked under vaulted ceilings, between shimmering pools of water, around things which suddenly frightened her more than they excited her.

Naturally, there was plenty of room for everyone to sleep. Galahad and Dameon agreed to watch Te'ijal in shifts that night. Elini had her servants wash the clothes that survived John's fifth wreckage. Before settling down, the party spent time resupplying in Veldt--Peter found himself a nasty-looking dagger, John a rapier so beautiful he misted up at the sight of it, and Rhen a clean, new outfit--and visiting the queen.

She reminded Lars quite a lot of Telin: loud, brash, demanding, and perhaps lacking a degree of self-awareness. She was immediately fond of Lars. The instant he stepped through the double doors into her royal halls, she squealed with delight.

"Are you carrying a _nightingale,_ my child?" she gasped. "Where did you--"

"No idea."

He was, in fact, still carrying the birdcage. It just felt so inhumane to let the thing die after capturing it and subjecting it to this traumatic journey, so he sought it and grabbed it from the sand as soon as he heard it scream. The poor, waterlogged bird flapped its wings lethargically before trilling out an uninspiring note. Lars winced. _I can't believe this stupid thing is still alive._

"Well then!" The queen clapped her hands twice. "I want it. For this, we shall arrange a suitable exchange. SLAVES!"

Lars grimaced. He wished his first instinct wasn't to glance at Rhen, but it was, and she didn't look bothered at all, at least at first. She did narrow her eyes and glare at the queen as a parade of half a dozen slaves emerged from her chambers to offer an assortment of unusual items. Lars didn't even see them. He was willing Rhen to look at him, willing her to see that he stood beside her in this, but why should _that_ matter, he recalled, as she already had three unwavering friends and allies who'd never been responsible for her suffering--

"The bridle," said John, snapping Lars back to attention. "We'll take the dragon bridle. Unless the bird handler has any objections."

"Uh, no." _H_ _e's actually serious about the dragon?_

"The bridle it is!" crowed the queen. The slave carrying John's new dragon bridle stepped forth to take the cage from Lars _(finally)_ and handed him the sparkly bridle. "Ah, now I shall sleep far better at night! Our deepest gratitudes for your business."

Lars stared at the tacky thing before passing it off to John. "Thanks, your majesty."

The queen scoffed. "I shall allow your indiscretion to slide, as you are a foreigner and this is but our first meeting. Now, Elini, you would not have come home so soon without a good reason."

Elini nodded. "We are here to tell you of the demons we encountered in the straits."

"I have heard reports of demon attacks at the port," said the queen, her voice suddenly serious. "Reinforcements were sent from Veldt. Have you news of them?"

"They have perished."

Lars shivered. The way they spoke felt cold--or _hardened,_ as if war and death were as familiar to them as breakfast and tea. He wondered whether any of the swords mounted behind the queen's throne were more than just decorative.

"And demons in the strait... we cannot defend against them if we do not hold the docks." The queen raised her chin. "Alfeld! Husband! We have need of your _special_ agents."

A heavily-armored man, who Lars assumed was Alfeld, emerged without speaking from the queen's chambers. He bowed before her and left the palace.

The queen smiled, cheerful again. "All shall be well! Thank you once more for this bird; a good queen thrives only when well-rested. Now! Are you travelers interested in performing another little task?"

 

 

An excellent night's sleep prepared them well for what came the following day. Despite Elini's trepidation, the demon caves by the Temple of Strength were a challenging but fair match for the party of eight. Rhen at last understood why John put Galahad on the winch during the demon battle at sea--the paladin did not _at all_ care for Elini's preferred mode of combat, and it suddenly became Rhen's responsibility to keep him focused. Galahad was demonstrating a rapidly degenerating ability to productively channel his anxieties, she noted.

But they found a second lamp inside and fought their way out into the sunlight again, and they were less than pleased when they returned to Veldt and learned they had to fight their way through yet another walled-in, demon-infested horrorscape. Rhen ordered Galahad to stay behind and offer company to the queen. To Lars' shock, Galahad listened without argument.

They all emerged very quietly from the empty lamp with the druid's soul a couple hours later, faces somber. No one would tell Galahad what they saw inside.

Elini perked up quickly once they revived Eithera. The sun had just begun its downward drift to the western horizon when they left the caves for the second time that day. Eithera appeared far older than Elini, and Lars knew most of the druids maintained their positions for hundreds of years, but the two women chatted like old friends, switching smoothly between Veldti and the northern tongue.

"--and the queen is much happier now, _algan trrona, dumattar,_ hopefully the tax on _medirra lemanan kalaa--"_

_"Jemain-n-n,_ with her, who knows, _deyo?"_ Eithera laughed, as did Elini. "Last time we spoke, _madta-chaa,_ you were looking for another husband!" Eithera glanced behind at the rest of the group. "Did-- _anyattar rroba-yanno--?"_

Elini lowered her voice to a whisper and said something in Veldti.

"Ohh-- _ohhh,_ now--" Eithera laughed again.

John rolled his eye and nudged Rhen. "Some thanks the rest of us are getting. Aren't _you_ supposed to be the chosen one?"

Rhen shrugged. "They're friends. That's probably more important."

Eithera sighed. "So how long was I gone, _madta-chaa?_ What day is it?"

Elini grinned and said, "Why... it is December the tenth!"

The druid gasped. She slapped her hands to her cheeks and squealed, not unlike the queen. _"Algan-naaaaaaa?!"_

Elini just nodded, eyes sparkling.

"How many is it this year, _madii?!"_

Elini swatted the druid's arm and said something too fast to be comprehensible, followed by, "how rude!" They both laughed again.

Dameon chuckled quietly.

Lars turned his head to scrutinize the junior druid. "Uh... Dameon?" he whispered.

"Mm?"

"You... know Veldti?"

He just chuckled again. Lars sniffed. _I hate it when he does that._

The sun still hadn't set when they reached Veldt. Eithera immediately bounded off to greet worshipers with bold familiarity. Lars raised his eyes to scan the whole tiered city. Tents and canopies were erected here and there, strung with lights in pink and white, full of collapsible furniture and floral decorations. He even saw a couple portable stove-tops and an oven. Incense and candles were lit all over town, casting glowing ember lights like fireflies across the cozy desert streets.

Around the road to the west, he saw an elaborate, gilded palanquin bedecked with jewels and silks sitting unoccupied at the end of the road. _That must be the queen's. What's going on here?_

He turned to Dameon once more. "Hey, Sir Cosmopolitan. Is it a holiday on this continent?"

Dameon shrugged. "Not that I know of."

Rhen came up on Dameon's other side and tugged his voluminous sleeve. "Do you know if it's a holiday--oh, sorry to interrupt."

Dameon tried to suppress a laugh with his hand. "It's not a holiday, and you're not interrupting anything."

Lars bit his lip and looked at the darkening sky.

"Well, anyway," said Rhen, "unless outsiders aren't allowed at... whatever this is, I think we should use the time to become better friends! You two, me, and Peter. We're all the same age, more or less, so why not?"

Lars glanced at her. There was genuine amicability in her smile, but also something just a touch conspiratorial. She was looking at Dameon, but Lars knew immediately that smile was for him.

"I think that's a great idea," he chimed. "Is Peter on board already? I'd love to pick his brain."

"Yep!"

"Will we leave poor John to the vampires?" Dameon beamed down at her.

"Oh, he'll be fine. Maybe he'll even make a new friend."

"Do you think maybe we should figure out what this festival is, first?" pointed out Lars.

They didn't have much time to wonder. The queen emerged from her palace, spotted Elini, and galloped from the steps to embrace the summoner in a tight, shrill hug.

_"Maaaaadaa, kanii oranda ge--!"_

_"Mada!"_ Elini laughed, squeezing the queen back. "Let us use the northern tongue when my friends are here!"

"So demanding! And after I pull together this whole festival for you!"

"I am so _happy_ I made it home in time!" Elini sighed. "But I wished to bring a new husband for this year's celebration."

"You can celebrate fine with the ones you have, I think," ribbed the queen, and both women chortled.

It suddenly dawned on Rhen what the festival was for as another woman with bright blue hair tripped up the steps, the smell of alcohol trailing behind her, and cried out, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELINI!"

No one in the party wanted to admit they hadn't figured it out, so a rumble of "oh" "oh, yes" "ah" "right" preceded an awkward chorus of "Happy birthday!"s.

"Thank you, my dear, dear friends!" gushed Elini. "I hope that you will enjoy the party as much as I will!"

"Eliniii, _madd-de,_ I have a present for you!" slurred the blue-haired woman, giggling between breaths. She pushed a small glass bottle into Elini's hands. "Because I heard you did not come home with _orrrr-an-daaaa!"_

"Siddi! You are so _rude!"_ Elini stuffed the bottle into the folds of her dress, her face just a hint redder. "And we are speaking northern tongue for my friends!"

Siddi, who Rhen recognized as the town alchemist, turned to look at the uncomfortable group assembled by the palace stairs. She surveyed them one by one for a moment, squinting, before turning back to Elini and pointing behind. "What about that one?"

_"Siddi!"_ Elini pushed her down the stairs, still laughing. "Get out of here! Go get some _basrani_ with bread! _Lots_ of bread!"

Siddi left, and Te'ijal clasped her hands together, delight sparkling in her eyes. "Are we to celebrate with you tonight, Elini?"

Elini grinned at her. "I wish to keep you by my side for the whole party, my dear friend!"

"There will be a parade at the end of the party!" crowed the queen with a wink. "You will not wish to miss it! I am taking Elini to dress; do not wait for us!"

With that, the queen whisked Elini away into the palace, and the other seven travelers were left standing with a raucous and colorful festival at their backs.

Peter grinned and grabbed Rhen's hand. "Shall we?"

She grinned back. "I want to try whatever _basrani_ with bread is. Dameon?"

"Ready when you are," said Dameon. He glanced at Lars.

Lars swallowed and, against his better judgment, placed a hand on Dameon's shoulder. "Let's go."

And they went.

_Basrani,_ as it turned out, was some sort of pasty meat curry; Rhen could identify neither the meat nor any of the other ingredients, but she found it utterly delightful and made each of her friends get their own to try. Peter found gin imported from the western continent. After a long day of demon-slaying, it wasn't long before he and Rhen were both pleasantly toasted. Lars didn't touch it.

But, _gods,_ did he want to. A few local businesses had set up stalls, turning a portion of the festival into an open-air market. Dameon wandered towards the jewelry and made a great show of analyzing just which necklace would best complement Rhen's outfit and natural coloration. She was a great sport about it, and Lars _knew_ she was just being nice, but it hurt. It really hurt. He couldn't believe how badly he wanted Dameon to look at _him_ that way, to really consider him, his tastes, the way he looked. And... well, sue him; Lars liked jewelry.

He took a deep breath and projected himself into the band playing in the city square. The music was so cheerful. Every once in a while, he saw Rhen bobbing her body in time to the music. She put all of herself into the music, not just her head or her feet, even when she was standing still. Lars knew that feeling as soon as he saw it--it was the trick she'd taught him herself, to relax, to become one's art. It was his magic. He smiled and let himself nod his head to the beat.

Lars thought, as they walked through the square, that he should ask her to dance, because he was fascinated by this innate gift she had, but of course someone beat him to it.

"May I have this dance?"

Rhen halted as Dameon took her hand. Lars watched Peter tense, staring at the back of her head as if waiting for some signal to intervene. No signal came. Lars' heart dropped as she nodded pleasantly and invited Dameon closer to the band with a spin.

Lars closed his eyes. It wasn't a ballroom dance. It was upbeat. They weren't going to hold one another close or stare into one another's eyes. It was just....

"Oi." Peter tapped Lars' arm. "Lars. Come on; let's dance."

With a heavy sigh and a shrug, Lars nodded his head at Peter and joined the throng in the city square.

Peter stole Rhen from Dameon eventually, to everyone's great relief (including Dameon's--Rhen made a deliberate show of her skill, and the poor druid was clearly outpaced; Lars adored her for it). Lars wanted to speak with her, but he never got near enough. _What's her plan?_

He did find Elini. She was passing between the dancers, aglow with shimmering makeup from head to toe, scantily-clad and flowing with pale silk scarves. She kissed his cheek as she danced past him.

"You are my _madii,_ Lars Tenobor!" she told him, and then she was gone again.

He might've been trampled if he stopped moving then, but he did smile after her, not quite understanding but feeling far better than he had all day.

Another hour of dancing and roaming and eating unusual custards passed. Rhen grew giggly the tipsier she got, and--it seemed--she became far more physical, as well. Lars irrationally wished Peter warned him that she'd grab the arm of whomever was closest and cling to it. And, of course, Dameon was always closest.

Lars knew it was nothing. She held _his_ hand a couple of times, when Dameon went off to hunt down one gift or another, and she was all over Peter. But seeing _anyone_ so close to Dameon raised his hackles. He couldn't stand it any longer, and he didn't want to be angry with Rhen. He slipped away from the three of them and walked off on his own. Hopefully Peter would... keep them apart.

The sky was completely dark, the iridescent tent fabric glittering under string lights. The moon looked pretty behind a tall palm tree. Lars hovered at the edge of town and watched it for a while. Staying still was awful for him--he knew this by now, but he did it anyway. Sometimes he wondered whether he _wanted_ the pain. Whether he was too used to it.

It certainly wanted him.

The front door of the building beside him opened with a creak, and out walked a brawny man carrying a wooden tray around his neck. Several bottles of clear liquid clinked against one another and the shallow walls of the tray as the man strode toward the party. The scent of anise buffeted Lars. He blinked hard-- _a drink made of anise?_

In his curiosity, he stepped forward, his robes rustling against a fern. The man turned to look at him and frowned.

"Alone outside the festival, my friend?"

Lars laughed nervously. "Uh... well..."

With a shake of his head, the distiller said, "This will not do. There is no sadness like that forty paces from the edge of a party."

"Yeah... you caught me."

The man grabbed one of the bottles from his tray and handed it out to Lars. "Come; take this, and do not tell! Shh, shh!" There was a conspiratorial glimmer in his eye. "I do not like to see such sadness."

Lars couldn't argue with that. _(Yes I could, yes I could. But I don't want to.)_ He took the bottle. _You shouldn't do this. Don't do this._

It tasted pretty bad. Lars wondered whether he was supposed to mix it with something. If he tried hard enough, he could block the burn and just taste the anise. That wasn't much better. The bottle fit in his belt, though, so it was easy enough to hide. Equipped once more with liquid armor, Lars returned to the party.

Just in time, it seemed. The queen's palanquin was being raised, but inside sat Elini, giggling and posing for the crowd. A small parade of jugglers and marching musicians preceded her as she was transported east, down the main street to her house. Lars wondered how they would get up those stairs. He took another swig. Lars wondered how _he_ would get up those stairs.

The crowd was howling and catcalling as she passed, tossing streamers and flowers at her, and she loved it. Lars caught a word here and there--this crowd was _dirty--_ and then he suddenly realized what the point of this parade was and why Elini had hoped to bring home another husband before her birthday.

Someone patted his arm from behind and giggled in his ear, and he looked to the side just in time to see a flash of purple hair pass him by.

A few minutes later, Dameon found him.

"Lars! We lost you for a while." He smiled easily. "You were missed."

Lars blushed easily when he drank, or so it seemed. "I'm back."

"I lost Rhen and Peter, too. Have you seen Rhen?"

_Yes._

"No."

"Then I guess it's just us."

Oh, did Lars ever blush easily.

"Anyway," continued Dameon, "this parade has been incredible. I've never seen anything so extravagant just for one person."

"Your cousin must not be the empress."

Dameon chuckled and picked a petal from his hair.

Everything was a little blurry. Lars had to blink in order to focus his eyes, and it was taking all of his brainpower to stay steady on two feet. At least he'd learned by now to speak as if sober. Flowers and confetti were raining down on them as the crowd moved slowly to the east, following the palanquin. Lars didn't move with the crowd. Neither did Dameon.

"Strange weather we're having," quipped Dameon.

Lars held out a hand as if testing the air for rain. "Hmm... I'm no meteorologist, but this looks normal to me."

A full flower--some sort of carnation, Lars guessed, but he was no botanist, either--landed in Lars' outstretched palm. He gazed at it for a moment. There was still a bit of green stem on the bottom. Its petals looked to be the same deep red as the dyed silk of Dameon's robes.

Lars glanced back at Dameon's face. It didn't occur to him that Dameon was staring at him with that soft smile, the one he'd only seen once before. Lars was too drunk to think about too many things at once. Their eyes met for a long moment that stretched on like ribbon.

He reached one hand up to smooth and part Dameon's sweep of brown hair, and with the other, gently, he tucked the carnation behind Dameon's right ear.

What Lars would have given if he'd thought to leave his hand on Dameon's cheek, lean forward, and explain exactly how he felt.

But he didn't.

They stood together, still locked in a stare as if only force could end it, Dameon's perfect lips parted in shock, something shining in his dark eyes. The light was odd, Lars thought, and there was no way Dameon was blushing. That would be... so... _out of character._

_Maybe I'm blushing, too. Can he tell? I can't._

And Dameon finally closed his mouth--he kept fidgeting with his arms, as if he wanted to do something but he couldn't quite figure it out--and he stepped back at last, far enough that Lars couldn't feel his warmth any longer. And he spoke.

"I... need to go. Find Rhen."

And he left.

Lars was alone. He stumbled, leaned against a building, shook. He couldn't control the tears as they started. It hurt, it hurt, it _hurt,_ but _gods,_ something--something felt good, _so good--_ exhilarating and beautiful--and he couldn't understand.

So he asked the bottle at his hip.

And that was the last thing Lars remembered that night.


	25. Devin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is what we need the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for a discussion of alcohol abuse. Minor language warning.

John fumbled with the dragon's reins and nearly slid down its ample neck as it lowered its head to sniff the sparkling grass. "Ah! Fish guts."

Peter sniffed. "I can't _believe_ you've been letting this man sail you around the isles since the end of October."

Rhen stretched. "Are we there now, John?"

"No, we're _here."_

"We're in Aveyond," confirmed Dameon. There was a smile on his face, which Rhen saw as she carefully stepped to the ground, but she didn't hear it in his voice. _Interesting._

The mountain atop which the Sun Temple stood was too steep and uneven for the dragon, so John landed just below. Several large bees were squashed beneath the beast during its descent. Rhen wasn't impressed by this mountain--or, at least, the front of it. She saw the vista drop off just behind as they landed in front of the temple, and she wondered how far down the cliffs went on the other side.

She helped Galahad down, unsteadily, from the dragon. He hadn't spoken a word on their two-hour flight. Rhen initially wondered whether he'd fallen asleep behind her, but his posture and the width of his eyes now suggested otherwise.

"All right, Galahad?" called Peter as he helped John remove the bridle from the creature's mouth. He received no response.

Lars was slumped back in Te'ijal's arms. She held him gently, like she didn't quite know what to do with him, but she also did her best to shield him from the sun with her own body. Elini, who sat in front of Lars, hadn't minded when his head drooped forward to rest between her shoulderblades now and then during the flight. He was, as he ought to have predicted the evening prior, quite hungover.

Te'ijal gingerly tapped the side of his head with a long fingernail. "Lars," she whispered. "You must not sleep anymore."

Lars groaned, then cut himself short, distressed by the reverberation of the noise inside his head. Very slowly, he turned where he sat and buried his face into Te'ijal's shoulder. Elini turned, too, and rubbed a hand up and down his back. He couldn't help but wonder how insightful a gesture it was, and just how much his friends--other than Rhen--knew of his most specific tribulation. Had he glanced too fondly? Was he not as furtive as he believed? Were his sleeves stained only with the blood of demons, but with the crimson patterns of his own heart?

_Oh, shut up. You're too dramatic. It's no damn wonder he doesn't want you._

Lars sighed through his nose. "Got any tea?" he asked Elini in a small voice.

"Black or peppermint?" she murmured back.

"Black."

"Are we not to go to the shrine with the rest of our companions?" asked Te'ijal. She gestured up the mountain--Rhen and her friends, as well as Dameon and Eithera, were already hiking up the mountain trail. Peter slung a knife at a bee, pinning it to a tree without even glancing aside.

"Perhaps I may boil water in the temple," suggested Elini.

"You're right." Lars slowly hoisted himself from the beast's massive saddle, grumbling as the blood rushed to and from his head. "We need to speak with the Oracle."

"She will be there this time?"

Lars blinked. _Yeah... yeah, she'll be there this time._

Aveyond was always blithely sunny. Lars pulled the thin hood of his cloak over his face as best he could, but it didn't do much to shade him from the light. He stared at the ground as they followed the path to the temple.

Rhen hesitated at the entrance. The austere marble, the imposing columns--this wasn't her domain. She swallowed.

"Um... Dameon."

"Is something wrong?" Dameon looked far too concerned.

"Who's in there right now?"

"There should be four druids, the Oracle, m--the Dreamer, and a man named Devin."

"De... vin."

Rhen tapped her fingers against her leg twice.

Dameon offered her a hand, which she took without thinking, to help her step up the temple staircase. "You know who he is?"

"I do." Rhen sighed. "I guess I'm meeting him now."

Peter put a hand on her shoulder and smiled when he had her attention. "Ready or not; here we come."

Dameon entered the temple first, followed by Eithera. Rhen took a deep breath, smiling weakly back at Peter, and went in after.

Seven pairs of eyes turned to stare at her.

_"It's her."_

_"Darling girl."_

_"I nearly didn't believe the prophecy was true."_

Devin stood on the far side of the room. (She knew it was him because he was the only one not wearing a robe.) Rhen did everything she could not to look at him, to stare hard at a potted plant by the opposite wall, but... his hair was so _blue._ It caught the eye. She thought for a second how alike they already were, and her head swayed; she wanted to vomit.

Behind her, Lars took off his hood. Rhen was blocking the doorway. He furrowed his brow as much as he could against the pain--she wasn't okay. He wormed around her side, stood next to her, and announced in as strong a voice as he could muster, "This is Rhen Pendragon."

She turned pink as a camellia and fidgeted with her belt loops.

Lars put a hand on her back and guided her forward. He murmured, "Let's talk to the Oracle. She'll tell us what's next." Rhen nodded just enough for him to see, remaining silent, and the druids parted so the pair could approach the Oracle by the back window.

Her eyes were glued to Rhen. Lars could tell exactly how uncomfortable Rhen was, and he wished they would all stop staring--and the moment he wished as much, they did. The four resident druids rushed to greet Eithera and Dameon, Talia motioned for Te'ijal to come to her, and Devin was soon occupied by a polite Elini. Only the Oracle continued to stare, a tiny smile on her face.

"My child."

She offered a hand for Rhen to take. Rhen shook as they touched--but the minute they made contact, Rhen was flooded with a feeling of surety that eclipsed the terror she felt. Something about this woman made Rhen feel--made her _know--_ that she was exactly where she should be. New confidence shone in her expression.

"It's an honor to meet you, Oracle."

"The honor is mine, Rhen."

Lars let them speak alone. His attention wandered to the druids congregating around the sunlight pool. It occurred to him that Dameon hadn't been home to perform the sunrise exultation. Who led the prayers in his stead? Another druid? Did Talia know it?

_"And the Prophet, too, has met destiny, as I knew he would."_

He snapped back to look at the Oracle, but she was still busy with Rhen, telling her everything she didn't yet know about the Sword of Shadows and about Thais.

_"You are not just her Prophet, Lars. You are her herald."_

He swallowed.

_"Don't leave her."_

Lars' head began to pound again, as it had outside in the direct sunlight. He closed and covered his eyes. The Oracle trusted him with so much... how could he fulfill her expectations? He ran away from every problem he had, and he might just as well run away from Rhen. He knew how he must look right now. A mess. A disgrace. Not fit to be even a Tenobor.

He thought that clearly, but she didn't respond.

"Pardon me, young Lars." Galahad brushed past him on his way to the altar. Lars watched him kneel slowly and bow his head by the window, and then he didn't move, save for his lips, which occasionally fluttered in the shape of a quick syllable.

_What is he saying? Is he asking for something?_

He hoped the paladin wasn't asking for terribly much, for he saw Te'ijal sidle up the opposite wall and lurk there like a conniving shadow, watching Galahad with catlike eyes.

Lars glanced across the pool to see Devin and Talia--mostly Devin--conversing with Elini. She appeared to be telling a story. Lars watched Talia with interest. He expected her to stare blankly into the distance, hoping to catch the eye of her son, but... she didn't. She smiled and laughed, her hand absently touching her cheek now and again as she listened to Elini, standing just a few inches away from Devin and his crossed arms.

Lars' feet were still unsure as to whether they should trot around the pool to join Elini's storytelling. Rhen's were quicker. He didn't hear the Oracle's parting words, but Rhen seemed more confident than before as she sought Devin in the crowd.

She found him standing with Elini and the priestess who'd given her that ring all those months ago. It only felt appropriate to greet the priestess--Talia--first, so Rhen wet her lips and, when Elini's story about the dragon sounded like it was finished, she stepped forward to say hello.

"Rhen!"

Talia swept Rhen into her arms, which Rhen hadn't expected at all. "Um, hello!"

The priestess stepped back. "Oh, I think you're an inch taller! Look at you! Look how _strong_ you are!"

Rhen bit back a sigh. She'd rather hoped these people wouldn't value her first for her "strength" just because she was prophesied to destroy a demon using a big sword. "Thank you," she said politely. "I've been sailing."

"That's _marvelous."_ Talia looked like she really meant it, and Rhen couldn't help but smile a little more genuinely.

"Pardon me."

The soft, deep voice Rhen still secretly hoped not to hear spoke from her left, and she had to turn to see the man who spoke it. It was hard to find his face through the full beard he wore; he hid behind it like a mask. The tiniest streaks of silver sprinkled his cobalt hair like early stars in a dusky sky.

Rhen parted from Talia to stand before him in full. Something curdled in her stomach. She didn't know what form it would take were it to manifest.

"You must be Devin," she said, the warmth sapped from her voice. She stuck out a hand for him to shake.

He did shake it, slowly, gingerly--his hands were rough and his skin stuck out in picks where it was dry. His nails were short. Rhen broke their contact.

"Rhen...."

She hated how he stared at her, like artwork too precious to touch, like seventeen years of something he knew and could love. He knew her name, but he didn't know who she was. She crossed her arms against the cold in her chest. He reached out like a breeze to brush her cheek, and his thumb came away wet.

"I can't believe it's really you," he murmured.

She didn't know what to say in response. She stared up at him in silence, the corners of her mouth wavering.

"I--I've heard of... everything you've done... and--"

"Please stop," she whispered, squinting against tears.

"--Rhen... no father could possibly be prouder than I."

"You--you've never been my father."

"You've always been my daughter."

Rhen buried her face in her hands and doubled over, sobbing.

Lars was frozen in place as he watched them speak. He wanted to rush over and fix it, somehow, just _fix_ it, but he had enough social graces left that he knew Rhen and Devin needed to work through this on their own. It was just... somehow, watching her cry made him want to cry, too.

The sobs echoing through the voluminous temple made his head hurt a little more. He winced and looked for Elini. She was standing with Talia, her eyes on Rhen and Devin. Though Talia pretended to focus her attention on her discussion with Elini, she looked like she might weep when Devin clumsily gathered Rhen into his arms and Rhen let him cushion her through the tears.

Lars crossed the room, avoiding Dameon, and let Talia and Elini finish their hushed conversation. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he wanted to listen to _anything_ other than Rhen crying.

"I do not find this time appropriate for your question."

"I apologize; I just recall the subject being important to you."

"I do not take another woman's man, Talia."

"Wh--well, he's not _mine."_

Elini didn't respond; she simply rolled her eyes.

Lars cleared his throat. "Ladies."

Talia and Elini both smiled at him. "How do you feel, Lars?" asked Elini.

He wanted to say _"simply wretched,"_ but he hated the thought of Talia seeing this chemical infirmity, this vice, this weakness. "Thirsty," he decided, and Elini nodded sympathetically.

"I promised you tea. I shall return."

Lars and Talia were left together. The pride shining in her eyes felt palpable. Lars took it bitterly, remembering how desperately he once wanted to see that pride directed at him--how he felt he deserved it, earned her affection with every action he took. Now, with a tempest in his head and hell on his breath, he knew how little he deserved a single thing from her.

But she hugged him anyway, like she never had before. It was an easy embrace, close enough to offer comfort and loose enough to hold for long enough that Lars lost track of where he was. He closed his eyes and watched the darkness swim.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you?" she asked quietly, looking up toward his ear.

Lars exhaled. He wished she hadn't asked. He knew he would tell her.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Yeah."

"I know your journey has been difficult. If you've done things you regret... I can understand that pretty well."

"It's that obvious, huh?" Lars winced. He knew it was that obvious. His breath was a horror. He expected her to chuckle or patronize, but she didn't.

"Lars. Listen to me." She held him tighter. _"You are strong enough."_

He leaned his forehead down to rest on her shoulder, but he didn't cry. His head hurt too much, and he was tired, and... there was nothing in there anymore. He was hollow.

_"I know_ you're going to find your way through this."

"How can you know?" he whispered, unsure that she would even hear.

"I've met a lot of people in my life," she said, and he felt her steady hand stroke his hair. "Writers... thieves... mercenaries... priests. People whose lives fell into place, and people whose lives fell apart. Some of them with resilience, some with great resolve. But, Lars, none of them--none of us--threw ourselves with such devotion into a quest we weren't even asked to endure. I've never met another person who cares, who _wants_ to make things right, _nearly_ as much as you do, Lars."

Talia turned her head and kissed him ever so lightly on the cheek, and he couldn't breathe.

"For any great queen or noble empress, it would be an honor of the highest degree to call you her son."

The temple was silent for a time, Devin holding Rhen and Talia holding Lars, the princess and the prophet recalling for the first time in months that they were, despite everything, still children.

After more time passed than he cared to measure, Lars realized that his headache had abated. He sniffled and opened his eyes.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"You're welcome."

"I'm... I'm going to do better." Lars swallowed. "I just...."

He trailed off as he noticed Dameon, whose head was turned just enough that Lars could tell he was watching them, his face as expressionless as Lars had ever seen it--which, of course, meant that something was wrong. Lars stepped away from Talia, who looked up at him with concern.

Lars shook his head and met her eyes. "A lot has happened over the past few weeks."

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

He glanced over her shoulder again. Dameon had his back to them now, spine straight, arms crossed. Unreadable, but... he was as human as Lars. Maybe Dameon thought they spoke ill of him together. He knew, Lars was sure, he _knew_ what Lars felt, especially after that night at the festival. There was no possible way Dameon could remain ignorant, and there was no reason for Lars not to tell the one person he thought might, _might,_ be able to help.

Lars looked back to Talia. He leaned down and whispered the truth in her ear.

 

 

Rhen finally stopped crying and grew conscious of where she was and who held her. She shuddered and broke away from Devin, staring at the tiled floor. He wasn't Pa. He _wasn't._

"I've got a mess to clean up because of you," she spat at the ground.

She turned and marched away before she could see his reaction, blocking the sound from her ears in case he tried to speak. Talia gave Lars one last squeeze before letting him jog after her. He was at her side in seconds, his own woes quieted but not forgotten.

"You all right?"

"There's one last druid left to find, right?" Rhen sliced down the stairs at the shrine's entrance. "Where's their temple?"

Lars hummed thoughtfully. "I guess that's the one in the fairy caves."

Rhen snorted. "Fairies?"

"Just trust me. We can find it, but I don't remember how to get there."

"Maybe someone will." Rhen nodded for John and Peter to join them by the nearest tree.

"I'm not sure there's a point!" protested Lars. "All of the druids are frozen right now, aren't they?"

"Maybe not this one. If their temple is in Aveyond, of all places, they could be safe."

"But--"

"Lav, oh my _gods!"_ Peter practically squealed at her when he reached the tree. "You won't believe what we found!"

John was grinning, too. "Yeah, it's pretty ridiculous. Found it in a box."

"A _box?"_ Rhen squinted.

"Yeah, that chest by the corner of the shrine! Anyway, John found it, and we were trying to figure out what it does, and--"

"Found _what,_ exactly?"

Peter showed her the rough stone in his hand. It was flat on two sides, like a disc, but the edges were natural and uncut. A purple rune was scrawled on one side. Even in the light, it glowed faintly. Rhen frowned.

"So what does that mean?"

"No idea," piped John.

"But we figured out what it _does!"_ chirped Peter. He started to walk away backwards, stepping over the corpse of a bee. "I was pacing and getting worked up trying to figure it out because I _knew_ it was magic and I couldn't figure out how, and I sort of squeezed it in my hand in frustration, and--" he squeezed the rune "--voila!"

Rhen jumped. Peter was suddenly standing not a foot from her, right in front of the open chest. He hopped in place and smiled wide.

_"What?"_

"Look, it works from farther, too!" Without warning, Peter ran from that spot all the way to the dragon at the foot of the climb, squeezed his palm again, and just as before appeared next to Rhen with little fanfare.

"Completely baffling, right?" John was still grinning.

"Let me see it." Lars took the stone from Peter, whose smile faded a bit. "I'll give it back. Oh, this is a traveling rune."

"No kidding."

"Well, _Captain John,_ if you know any more about runes than _I_ do, I'd be delighted to hear sometime. Hmm... this one seems weird. Most traveling runes crumble into dust after one use." Lars tossed the thing in the air. "This one seems thaumaturgically sturdy."

Peter snatched it back. "And what about physically sturdy? Don't break it."

"So what's the range on it?" asked Rhen.

"Pretty much infinite."

"Oh." Peter's eyes grew wide.

"You'll want to keep a close eye on that." Lars raised his eyebrows. "Um... someone reliable should hold onto it, I guess."

All four took a moment to consider the reliability of the party at large. John stared up at the sky, and Rhen bit her lip in thought.

"Dameon...?" John suggested eventually.

Rhen, Lars, and Peter made regretful noises of agreement.

Elini emerged from the temple carrying a full tea set atop a tray. "There you are, Lars! I could not find you. The tea is still hot."

John eyed her tray. "Are those _kuzra_ biscuits?"

"Yes."

"Let's have tea."

The five travelers sat cross-legged on the grass and enjoyed black tea and _kuzra_ together. Lars didn't mind the company now that his headache was gone. Galahad emerged eventually and joined them, followed closely by Te'ijal.

"She tried to _bite_ me," Galahad hissed when Te'ijal sat behind Elini and busied herself with the summoner's hair.

"She tries to bite everyone," said Lars. "Sit down and drink some tea."

Dameon was the last to join. Peter reluctantly offered him the traveling rune, which was, apparently, property of the sun shrine after all, but Dameon thanked him and smiled as if receiving a gift.

Rhen didn't drink much tea. Caffeine made her anxious, she found, especially if she already had something on her mind. "Dameon, do you think you could lead us to the last temple?" she asked. "The one in Aveyond?"

"Well... we _were_ there recently." He looked up thoughtfully. "But it was an odd path we took, to say the least. Elini, do you remember it?"

"Ah... some parts, perhaps, but...."

Te'ijal was bouncing on her knees behind Elini, plainly excited. "I remember the way!"

Rhen glanced at Dameon, who was trying his hardest to pretend the vampire wasn't there. "Perhaps we can piece together what we each recall," he said.

"I can do it!"

"Let's finish this tea," said Peter. "I could use the boost."

It wasn't long before Te'ijal pranced ahead, leading them down the quickest path through the sparkling caves, while Dameon ignored her, looked down every passage they crossed, and asked, "Elini, what do you think of this one?" to which she would respond, "Perhaps not, Dameon," following Te'ijal without breaking stride. Galahad stayed glued to Rhen, never letting that dollop of red hair out of his sight.  _She probably loves that,_ thought Lars, but he felt no need to issue a warning.

No one noticed the strange, oozing creature following Rhen overhead, stuck firmly to the ceiling. Only when the floor rose and the passage grew narrower did it slide down to snatch at her. Feeling it graze her hair, she shouted--and before anyone could tell she'd moved, her sword was drawn. She spun the blade like a whirlwind in the air above her head. When the sword snapped back into its sheath, the ooze was frozen solid in place, its drips like icicles.

Lars nodded. "Hey, nice job."

Rhen took a deep breath. "I'm a little on edge right now. It was messy."

"Did you teach her that spell?" Dameon raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, he did. Let's just keep moving, please."

The caves were convoluted, and the party wove in and out at times, catching breaths of fresh air before plunging into a new tunnel. John took it shockingly well, in Rhen's opinion. Perhaps he was used to closed spaces by now; then again, perhaps he began telling a story to ease his nerves.

"So... a legend you might enjoy," he started out of nowhere. He looked at Rhen.

"Go on," she encouraged, elbowing Peter.

"There's this incredibly advanced race of technologically adept creatures. No one knows for sure what they look like, but one theory is that they're avian, because we're pretty certain they steal a lot of birdseed. They're so clever in their machinations that no one has ever met one in person."

"Invisible birds," sighed Peter.

"There's actually loads of evidence for that part, so hold your twitchy tongue, young rapscallion. Anyway--"

"Actually, the people of Veldt believe these beings to be reptiles," cut in Elini, not looking back at John but clearly addressing him.

He paused for a moment, his mouth ajar; finally, he said, "Well, that's nice."

"So what's the point?" asked Rhen.

"The _point_ is--so, you know that man who invented clocks? The Thaisian guy?"

"No."

"Well, he wasn't actually the first. This mystery race developed the clock long before humans ever did."

Elini gasped. "Oh, I love this story! The reptiles did not only make the first clock. They made a clock so powerful that it--"

"--it can _alter time,"_ concluded John, raising his voice. "If you can figure out how to set the thing, it's supposed to speed or slow whatever's around it."

"I would not say it _alters_ time," contradicted Elini. "The clock changes the way time is experienced around it."

John ground his teeth. "The bird people decided their invention was too powerful for the developing world of man, and that man should never get their hands on it."

"Wrong again! The _reptiles_ were invaded by the humans, and although the invasion was not successful, the humans stole their clock!"

"One way or another, whoever had their hands on the clock realized it should never be touched by humankind. They had to hide it in a place no one would find."

"In the sky!"

"Atop a _giant beanstalk."_ John shook his head. "And you _don't_ think they're bird people? The clock is guarded by a powerful monster and its minions in the safest place on Aia for hiding dangerous things."

"The End of Land."

John rolled his eye.

"Yeah. That."

Rhen sighed; the animosity was draining to watch. The group finally entered the largest cave they'd found so far, nearly the size of the thieves' cave outside Sedona. Strange laughter echoed between the walls, and sunlight seemed to permeate the cave, but Rhen couldn't identify its source. Then, they saw the fairies.

The giggling, glittering sprites gave Rhen, John, and Peter pause. Galahad simply stood in the cave exit, his ice-blue eyes wide but fixed straight ahead at the opposite, perfectly mundane wall. Rhen, on the other hand, was gasping with childlike glee after a moment, and she ran into the fray to greet the fairies.

"Oh, don't--" began Lars, but all the creatures did to her was anoint her with fairy dust, chanting arcane gibberish and touching her lilac hair.

"I suppose if fairies were to take to anyone, it would be her," chuckled Peter, still in disbelief.

Lars glanced at him. "Watch out for your belt buckle, by the way."

Peter blushed, swatted at his crotch, and hiked up his pants.

Rhen grinned back at the more cautious group behind her. "All right, so where's the temple?"

Before anyone had a chance to answer, the fairies tugged her sleeves forward towards a chasm in the floor. It was made of the same shimmering stone comprising the whole of the caves, but she couldn't see how far down it went, and it was much too wide to jump across. Rhen frowned. There was a pillar to her left, which seemed bereft of an adornment in its scooped-out top, and beyond all of the stardust in her eyes, she could make out a gorgeous, grey temple waiting on the other side of the gap. An inscription on the pillar indicated that this was the Temple of Time.

"Um... I think this is it," she called back, her voice echoing in the silence of the fissure.

"Well, how the hell are we supposed to reach it? I can't fit the dragon in here." John frowned.

Dameon stepped forward, cautious of the fairies. "If placed correctly in the pillar, the Dreamer's Tear will activate the rainbow bridge to the temple."

"Now hang on," started Lars, already up in arms on Talia's behalf.

"The Tear is a gemstone."

"Oh."

"Ugh, this is so convoluted." John rubbed his forehead. "How do you hero people keep up with yourselves?"

"Can we leave?" asked Elini, plucking a fairy from her cleavage and tossing it across the cave.

"I think we've had enough fairies for one day." Dameon nodded. "The druid Vata is frozen inside without a soul; there's no reason for us to be here."

Rhen gaped. "Wait--you _knew_ that? Why are we here _at all?"_

"My apologies, Rhen. I wasn't certain of our goal in visiting here, and I would have told you had I known. Elini, can you help me remember the way out?"

"I believe Te'ijal will be most helpful," Elini pointed out, her patience wearing thin.

Dameon sniffed and swished his cloak toward the exit. "Let's avoid relying on a vampire to lead us to sunlight."

Lars winced. He could hear Te'ijal clicking her fangs in annoyance beside him.

"Must he travel with us? Is he not meant to gather at the Sun Temple with the other druids?"

"We've been over this," sighed Lars. "There's technically no need for him to be there until ALL of the druids are assembled. He's... being useful with us."

"I may find more use for him at the bottom of that chasm."

 

 

The empty-handed return journey to the temple mount was exhausting and primarily uphill. Rhen, whose nerves kept her from eating much other than _kuzra_ that morning, fell behind. John fell back with her.

"My oh vi," he hummed, bumping her shoulder. "What seems to be the problem?"

"No problem," she grumbled.

"You didn't eat breakfast."

"All right; one problem."

"You should be tired, not pissed off." John wagged a finger sagely. "Something else is wrong."

Rhen sighed. "I'm a Pendragon. I'm supposed to be... a princess, or whatever."

"And?"

"And the only other remaining Pendragon is a shaggy coward with his head between his knees!" Rhen balled her hands into fists. "I didn't meet a king today! I met a cotton-stuffed ragdoll."

John shook his head. "Look. Trauma can do a lot of things to people."

_"I_ was kidnapped! I was a _slave!"_

"Yeah, and it hasn't been kind to you, either."

"What?"

John swallowed. "It's... not always obvious to us, at first, when something screws with our heads. I thought I was the only normal one at that school, the only one who saw things for what they were. What I did wasn't normal."

Rhen closed her eyes. "You're saying that... this isn't what Devin is really like."

"I lived in Thais for a couple years before the demon invasion. You know that. I wasn't exactly citizen of the year, but I... I still knew about what happened in the palace, what laws and edicts were enacted. And King Devin was one of the finest leaders I've ever seen."

"Oh."

"He and Alicia didn't rule like a king and queen. They held forum after forum and acted on the spot to help the people who came to them with problems. And I don't just mean 'Farmer Billy stole one of Farmer Ben's cows;' I mean... rising costs of living displacing people from their homes. Exploitation of common workers. Brutality enacted by the guard. I watched Devin throw himself between a royal guard and a man who was shouting on the street. I saw him repair, _with his own hands,_ a building complex which had burned to the ground while Alicia sat with the architects' council and rewrote the safety codes. Devin didn't see himself as the crown of the nation; he saw himself as its shield, and he knew that the people _were_ the nation."

Rhen was quiet for a long time.

"I don't think I can be like that," she said, finally.

John put an arm around her shoulders, and they walked in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read Rhenegade Spinoff #3, "Sage", now if you wish, or at any point after here! (It isn't required, but I'm proud of it.)


	26. What Happens in Sedona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...stays in Sedona, or so one would hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for references to alcohol abuse. Language warning.
> 
> This. This is a chapter.

One emotional shipwreck of a day was more than enough for Rhen, but it seemed the gods saw fit to grant her two in a row. She slumped down at the head of the excessively long dining-room table in Lars' mansion, a fair stripe more pleasant than his other house an ocean away, in a plush chair pulled out for her by an insistent Dameon. Lars was doing his best not to sulk at her right while Dameon patiently waited at her left for the rest of their party to join them.

A few minutes passed in this awkward manner, and Rhen swore she could hear her friends' pulses in the silence.

Dameon cleared his throat at last. "What do you think of the manor, Rhen?"

"It's... nice, although...." She glanced around. "The upholstery is a rather nasty shade of--"

"I'm having it redone," cut in Lars.

Rhen raised her eyebrows. "To what?"

"Er--dark green."

"Oh."

Dameon frowned at Lars. "You didn't tell me that."

"Why would I?"

"Rhen, what color do you think it should be?" asked Dameon.

"Uh... well, dark green is actually my favorite color."

"Oh, right! I remember that bracelet you liked at the festival. I wish you'd let me buy it for you."

"Mhmm." Furtively, Rhen pushed the purloined bracelet further up her sleeve.

"You have excellent taste. Wherever you live after this, I bet it'll be beautiful merely for your presence."

"Dameon." Lars clenched his jaw.

"What?"

"Ugh... nothing."

Rhen winced. What an excellent team bonding and strategizing session this was shaping up to be.

To her utmost relief, she heard John tip-toe up behind her, and she giggled out her nerves when he grabbed the sides of her chair. "Is that a demon?"

"Grr, yes! 'Tis I, Ahriman the Egotistically Overinflated, come to gobble up maidens for brunch! Aw, Dameon took my seat."

Dameon grimaced, reluctant to move. "I apologize. It would be no trouble to relinquish--"

But John had already taken the seat beside Lars. "Not at all, not at all. You've probably kept it too warm for my liking, anyway. So! Everyone of importance is here; let's get to it."

Rhen rolled her eyes. "Te'ijal has our maps. Remember?"

"Yes, and I can't imagine why we let her keep them."

Galahad emerged from the foyer with a stern sigh and the clanking of steel. He claimed the seat beside Dameon. A minute later, Elini and Te'ijal sashayed down the grand staircase down into the dining room. Rhen squinted; it looked like the vampress was wearing lipstick. Te'ijal pranced to the seat beside Galahad, and Elini chose the one across from her, beside John.

Peter wasn't there.

Rhen looked down at her twiddling thumbs. Some argument had already begun at the table before her, but she wasn't listening.

_"I've seen fairies,"_ he'd said to her. _"I've ridden a dragon. There_ are _whole oceans full of people, knowledge, and stories, and it's not going to end, no matter where I am. Not ever."_

"Rhen." Lars interrupted her memory. "Can we get this underway?"

She swallowed, trying to force her throat back open. "Sure. Sorry."

He squeezed her hand for a second, then lifted his chin to make eye contact with Te'ijal. She immediately pulled the map case from her back and passed it across the table, bumping Galahad's pauldron in a decidedly deliberate fashion. The paladin narrowed his eyes.

"Thanks." Lars removed the map from its case and unrolled it across the table. Dameon caught the other end, and each mage held down the curling edges with the contents of their pockets (a bag of focus crystals and the travel rune, respectively). Rhen's eyes grew wide at the sight of the map. It looked as if all of her and John's movements--rather, approximations of their movements--were charted on this map in different inks. Scrawled notes and colored lines drawn all over the parchment explained gods-knew-what; the writing was illegible. Overlaid atop the pirates' journey was a course in blue ink, drawn in a solid stroke, directly overlapping most of their earlier voyage. A smile tickled Rhen's lips. _That must be where they followed us._

"Nice map."

"Not so nice!" John objected. "Look, they have the dates all wrong! We didn't make port on--"

"Who's got the ink this time?" sighed Lars.

"I have it." Dameon pulled a tidy kit of inks and pens from his satchel. "We don't need to keep passing it around; I'm the only one who uses it."

John sniffed. "No wonder the annotations are nonsense."

"I'm just shocked you can read them at all," grumbled Lars.

Dameon closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. He took a pen and a vial of black ink from the kit. "Now that we're all together, any objections to switching to black ink?"

"No one cares, Dameon."

"Great." He uncorked the vial and dipped the pen inside before scratching a thin line between Veniara and the southern isle. "We spent one night aboard the ship... and two nights... in Veldt."

Galahad cleared his throat loudly and shifted his chair toward Dameon's.

"We found the dragon here--" Dameon drew a small circle "--and it took about two hours to fly to Aveyond. I'll make note of that."

"I believe that Jupiter has inverted again," warned Elini. "Traveling times may be unreliable."

"Got it." Lars took a small notebook from the folds of his robes, leaned across the table, and snatched the pen from Dameon. He flipped through the book and scribbled something down.

Dameon's brow furrowed. "I can't believe you two take that stuff seriously."

"Demonic presences push the affected planets around in their orbits!" Elini protested. "Even the course of Aia itself can be influenced in this way! How does the druid of the _sun_ know so little of basic astronomy?"

"It wasn't _astronomy_ you were talking about; it was _astrology,_ which is complete--"

"Doesn't hurt to take note." Lars snapped his notebook shut.

Rhen sighed. At this point, she wasn't sure why she was even there. She shifted in her seat, and the sword at her hip bumped against the side of the chair.

_Ah, right. That's why I'm here._

She'd gotten quite good at fighting demons. There was the lot on the ship, and then the hordes in the caves, and then the troops inside the lamp, and then some patrols they'd met on the way to fetch the dragon, and _then_ the stragglers they'd annihilated-- _she'd_ annihilated--in the highlands mere hours ago.

She still couldn't believe that demons had come to Clearwater. Magic, and then demons.

When they flew overhead on the dragon, when they saw the smoke and flames and falling trees, she'd _screamed_ for John to land. Peter was shouting with her. What a din they'd made together as their childhood home burned below.

It turned out fine in the end. Tailor was from Thais, and a dear friend of the ex-king, after all. No renowned Commander of the Royal Guard would ever let even one of his neighbors perish.

Oh, Lars and Dameon were hollering at one another over the table. Rhen shook out the memory and tried to follow what they were arguing about.

"You feel this obsessive _need_ to criticize _everything_ I do! How is _that_ productive?"

"Maybe I wouldn't be so _critical_ if you weren't such a damn _control freak_ and _let other people do things--"_

"I don't need to _'let other people do things'!_ You find perfectly good things to screw up all by yourselves! Who the hell gets on a random ship and--"

_"People who are incredibly frustrated by their work environment!"_

_"Frustrated?_ Are you _serious?_ What have I done--"

"I dunno, maybe being cagey all the time? Being _so much better than everyone_ all the time? Being a walking _ego trip?"_

_"I'm_ an ego trip?!"

"Break. Now."

Rhen slammed her hands on the table, stood up, and left.

Lars and Dameon stared after her. Dameon unclenched fists he seemed not to know he was holding. Lars hastily swept his hair from his face.

Galahad cleared his throat again and scooted closer to Dameon. The druid tried to sit down and whacked his arm on a pauldron.

_"Ow!"_

Lars pursed his lips. That wouldn't even bruise. Dameon was playing for drama now.

As if on cue, Dameon stood from his seat in a swish of silk and marched for the grand staircase. Lars couldn't rip his eyes away, nor could he pacify his shaking bones. Superficial snipping was one thing, but Dameon cut a little too deep recently. When Dameon was gone from view, Lars shut his eyes and shuddered. He was never truly gone. Not anymore.

_Why do I still feel this way about him? Why do I still see him every time I close my eyes?_

It didn't matter. Lars opened his eyes and pulled himself back into the room. They had a mission to complete, and--well, since he'd spoken to Talia--Lars had realized... he _did_ deserve better.

Across the table, Galahad cleared his throat again and stood. Te'ijal stood with him.

With a sigh, Lars left the table to find Dameon.

 

 

The largest room with the largest bed had been left clear and clean for Rhen ever since Lars bought the manor. She was curled on that bed atop the covers, her head resting on a blanket. She wasn't enough of a princess yet to leave tears on a pillow.

Lars and his stupid jackass of a beau weren't of much concern to her; their arguments just annoyed her on principle. She had a far more troubling problem. In the back of her mind, she supposed, she'd always thought there would be a place to which she could return if her trials grew too horrible to handle. Whether she'd acknowledged it or not, living for sixteen years in Clearwater had cemented its place in her psyche. Clearwater, Ma's chair, Pa's arms. That was where she could regenerate. Clearwater wasn't _dead,_ but she would have to mourn it now in the same way that she had to mourn Danny.

Danny had been there. She was startled to find him atop a smoldering roof with a bow and a quiver of lightly-used arrows, sniping winged demons as the villagers pushed barricades further and further down the path to the tunnel. Well... not so startled to find him atop a roof, but somewhat startled to find him in Clearwater, and quite startled to learn he'd transformed his passing fancy of archery into an aptitude.

Pa, of course, was the first thing she'd noticed, not Danny. He didn't merely lead the charge against the demons; he ordered every other villager to keep back while he controlled the chokepoint himself. Other villagers--Liana with her cast-iron skillet, Vanna with her root cutter--beat down a demon here and there, keeping clear of Pa's wide swing. He was the only Clearwater villager who owned a sword, which Rhen had never seen before. He must have kept it hidden in the locked chest in the hall. Seeing him battling like that froze her inside and out.

She and her companions dispatched the demons quickly, of course, as soon as they landed. When their adversaries were all dead, she fell to her knees and sobbed as Clearwater burned. Peter dropped to his knees, too, and hugged her while they cried.

A little magic took care of the fire easily. Pa found her.

"Rhen. Sweetheart. I'm so glad you're safe."

She'd sniffled and choked and shaken ashes from her hair. Eventually, she said, "How can you worry... about that... when you're... you're _not_ safe? Clearwater is--"

"It's all right." Peter stood and Pa knelt, and he rubbed her head before she pressed it into his chest. "It's all right."

Now, on the bed in Sedona, Rhen unfurled and rolled onto her other side. Her new, tight plait pressed into her cheek. She idly twisted the loose hair sticking out under Ma's favorite hair tie.

Even in the inferno at the end of the world, they loved her.

Eight travelers left Clearwater for Sedona that afternoon, most of them confident that Tailor and the mayor could cobble their village back together. Rhen hugged all the younger children and told them they would always be safe in Clearwater.

"How do you know?" asked one.

She said, "The queen of Thais herself has granted Clearwater her noblest warrior."

The words left a bad taste in her mouth, but the children smiled, the last of the fear melting from their faces.

Rhen wished she could melt the fear from her own heart like that. The destruction she saw that day bit her in utter surprise, like a snake lurking in a pumpkin patch. Her jaunt across the glassy sea wasn't a game anymore. People she knew and loved could get hurt.

All the more reason to plan their retaliation now, she remembered. Rhen shook the chill from her head and the tears from her eyes and bounced off the bed. Fear could be invigorating. She hoped Lars and Dameon had stopped fighting--she didn't hear shouting echoing through the wide halls, so maybe there was hope.

 

 

In Lars' opinion, there probably wasn't hope.

Dameon was easy to track. There was an atrium on the third floor overlooking a small fountain. Lars was sure there had been fish in the pool before, but Elini (cat) and Te'ijal (cat) were looking much fatter upon the party's return. The sun shone through the atrium windows at this time of day, illuminating the water and the reflective floors.

Lars found Dameon with his back to the sun.

He stepped into the light and felt its warmth on his cheek. For a moment, he closed his eyes. The light... it made him feel smaller. It drew him from himself and placed him in the heavens, a new paradigm for a fixed mind.

Dameon looked at Lars. One of them sighed.

"What do you need?"

Lars shook his head. "I don't need anything. I just want to say I'm sorry."

"If you insist."

"I am. I'm sorry. I don't want... the... I don't want _us_ to be like this."

_"You have to be direct with Dameon,"_ Talia had said, _"or else he'll willfully ignore anything difficult."_

Dameon nodded once. "I accept your apology. I offer one of my own."

Lars bit his lip. _Maybe that wasn't direct enough. Maybe I should just..._

He waved his thoughts away and rushed to follow Dameon, who walked briskly for the staircase. "We should return to the table," said Dameon. "Ideally, we'll leave for the next leg of our mission tonight."

Lars caught himself before he could trip over his robes in haste. "Wait, Dameon. I need to talk to you about something."

Dameon's stride didn't falter, but he hesitated before speaking. "Can it wait?"

"I..." Lars trailed off. _Is this really important?_

"We have crucial business to take care of." Dameon paused on the second floor landing to stare Lars in the eye. His gaze was intense, even moreso than usual. Lars tried to interpret what those eyes were telling him. They looked almost... afraid. Was it a _warning?_

"I know we do," said Lars, holding his voice bravely like a spear in a trembling hand. "Something is getting in the way. We need to talk about it."

Dameon started down the second floor stairs, and Lars followed. "Bring it up at the table. We can--"

_"No."_

Lars' insistence made Dameon pause again. He glanced back. "There's something you can't bring up in the group? Do--" his brow furrowed "--do you... suspect a traitor?"

"No."

Dameon resumed his descent, slower now. "Tell me what it is."

"It's about Rhen. Uh... it's about... you and Rhen."

Silence.

"You're clearly interested in her." Lars' voice gained strength. "From the moment you met her, you've been trying to get her to... reciprocate, and--well, let me tell you, it's made her uncomfortable."

He couldn't see Dameon's face anymore, but the druid spoke softly. "If I've made her uncomfortable, I should apologize."

"I don't think she wants an apology."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because she's not interested!"

"And that impedes the success of our mission?" Dameon's voice rose again, and he marched down to the half-landing before the first floor.

"A lot of people are unhappy with you right now! Peter! He's not here anymore, and thank the gods for that, because you might've woken up with a knife in your spleen!"

"How many apologies should I be drafting, exactly?"

Lars could've snarled. They were seconds from yelling at one another again. Luckily, over at the table, Galahad seemed occupied being chased around the room by Te'ijal, and John and Elini were shouting at one another loud enough to raise the dead. No one was listening to him or Dameon.

"You might want to apologize to John, while you're at it," he said, "and to Galahad, who was duped into believing that the sun shines out your ass."

Dameon took to the stairs once more. "And to the vampire, I'm sure, just because you're here to humiliate me."

"And to Elini! She _adored_ you, and then you turned into a--"

"Is there anyone you _don't_ think I've wronged, in your perfect, righteous judgment?" Dameon spat. He spun around to glare at Lars. "You're just like--"

_"And me!"_ shouted Lars. "I think, above _anyone_ else, you should be apologizing to _me, and you know it!"_

Dameon sniffed and stepped down into the dining room. He stopped by the railing at the bottom of the stairs and crossed his arms.

"Why, above anyone else, should I be apologizing to _you?"_

"You know why."

"Because I pissed you off enough to drive you to drink?"

"No."

"On behalf of my Goddess-damned _mother?"_

"No!"

"Then--"

Lars grabbed the neck of Dameon's robes, whisked him behind the railing under the stairs, wrenched him in by the back of his head, and kissed him.

Dameon lost his footing and stumbled, nearly falling into a potted plant beside him, but he steadied himself on Lars without thinking, grabbing one shoulder, his other hand clutching the cloth at Lars' ribcage. Lars curled his fingers into the hair at the nape of Dameon's neck. Even after he let go of Dameon's robes, the pressure of Dameon's hands remained against Lars' body. Hungrily, Lars traced the druid's chest before finding his waist and pulling him closer.

It was a long kiss. Dameon didn't break it.

Lars did, eventually; he had a point to prove. He swallowed and tried as hard as he could to breathe through his nose while his heart flew like a hunting hawk. He snatched Dameon's gaze from the air and imprisoned it in his own eyes. A spirit rose in him--something dark, something alluring, something _angry._ Lars felt it meld with him; he bared his teeth and became his fury.

"Don't. Lie. To. Me."

His lips were swollen. He swiped his tongue between them, and everything tasted like Dameon, who stood speechless and wide-eyed before him.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me there wasn't something between us."

Dameon's pulse was beating in his throat, and Lars could see it. They slowed their lungs for a minute, Dameon unable to look away, Lars' eyes daring him to do so.

Eventually, Dameon whispered, "Lars."

Lars stared.

"I'm... so, so sorry."

Before Lars could react, Dameon broke the connection, pushed away, and left the space under the landing.

"Galahad!" he called, his voice steady. "Sit down. _You,_ too, or I'll make you sit."

John looked away from Elini, who was shouting something in Veldti. "Hey, sunshine; mind telling me what she's calling me?"

"You don't want to know."

The winder stairs in the kitchen creaked, and Rhen emerged into the hall at a confident pace. She shook out her hair and surveyed the tension before her. "Ready or not; we have business."

"Thank god you're here, vi. I'm being harassed."

Elini shut her mouth and continued glaring at John. Rhen sighed.

"Look. We don't have time for this childish nonsense. More demons will come, and they might attack Sedona next. With a proper force."

"That's right," said Dameon. Once again, he pulled out her chair for her, but he didn't look her in the eye. _Curious._

Lars came from somewhere and sat down far more quietly than usual. Rhen glanced between the two. Lars was glowering intently at Dameon, and Dameon took pains not to look at Lars at all. Their faces--their lips, their eyes, something in their expressions--each looked a little... different.

_Oh, finally._

"Let's get to work. We have one more druid to rescue before I can access the Sword of Shadows. Dameon, do you have any more information to add?"

"Ah..." Dameon shook his head as if trying to evict an insect from his hair. "Yes, actually. Our sources report the presence of a temporal disturbance in the caves near Thais. Based on scouts' observations of the anomaly, that's most likely where Vata's soul is being held."

"What 'sources' do we have on Thais?" asked John, eyebrows raised.

"I'm a druid. I have connections."

Dameon's tone was back at full levels of arrogance now. Rhen nodded to herself.

Galahad scooted towards Dameon again. "She is touching my foot with her foot," he informed the table.

"Vata might be especially difficult to rescue," said Dameon, ignoring Galahad. "As we've noticed over the course of our mission, the daevas take on the powers of the druids they've captured. Soldiers in the caves attest that their fellows have been struck down by a presence they couldn't even see, rushing by as if it's a violent wind."

"Hm." Rhen rested an elbow on the table and cupped her face in her hand. "So fast, we won't even see it. Great. And what about the Rainbow Bridge?"

"You mentioned the Dreamer's Tear?" said Lars. His voice was unusually low.

Dameon met his eyes for perhaps a quarter of a second. "That's probably in Mysten Far. The dreamland."

Lars crossed his arms. "The demons took the dreamland. Talia shielded me against their mental assault. We'll have to fight our way through."

"If the priestesses even let us in."

"Too bad you don't have 'connections' with them."

This made Dameon glare at him. Rhen noted that Dameon's cheeks turned red--she'd never seen that before. She tried not to smirk.

"She has put her hand on my hand and will not remove it!" declared an agitated Galahad. Te'ijal was smiling like a cat on a herring buss.

"Te'ijal, please cut it out," commanded Rhen. "All right... so we have two problems to overcome: a super-fast demon and a hostile dreamland. What should we tackle first?"

"The dreamland," said Dameon. "We can definitely gain entry."

_Sour about Lars' jab, huh?_

"What does everyone else think?" Rhen asked.

She had hoped to hear from John, but Lars spoke up first. "We should go to Thais and check out the situation for ourselves."

"What will that accomplish?" asked Dameon immediately.

Lars snorted. "What will it _accomplish?_ Well, what's the point of having a bridge to the temple when we have no druid to put in it?"

"What's the point of going to Thais when we already know everything we could learn there?"

Each was gradually rising from their chair, hands on the table, posturing for dominance. Rhen rolled her eyes. She looked under Lars' arm and saw John nodding off in his seat.

"John."

He jumped a little and looked at her. "What?"

"Remind me of that story about the bird people and their clock?"

Elini blinked to attention as well. "He will tell it wrong."

"No, I won't. You will. Okay, so there are these secret bird people, and they're way more technologically--"

"Just skip to the clock, please?" Rhen rubbed her forehead. Lars and Dameon were still snapping contentious points at one another above her, and she was trying not to listen.

"The clock," said Elini, "has the power to change the way time--"

"It alters time," said John.

"No, it does not!"

"Where is it, again?" sighed Rhen.

"Land's End. You remember Land's End?"

"Regrettably, yes."

"If we are trying to change the way time is experienced..." said Elini slowly, her eyes raised contemplatively. "The clock may aid us in slowing the demon."

"That actually makes sense!" chimed John. "Huh. I think we ought to find the clock first. It'll cut us right to the chase."

"I agree with the pirate."

_"Privateer."_

Rhen exhaled a breath she'd been holding. There was another step to this journey, and for some reason, that made her happy. Well... not _some_ reason. She'd been honest with herself lately, and she knew that she really, truly, wholeheartedly was _not_ ready to go to Thais.

Soon. She could do it soon. Just... not yet.

"GODDESS, HELP ME!"

The shriek came from the other side of the table, accompanied by the _thunk-clatter_ of toppling chairs. Galahad and Te'ijal stood close to one another--but something wasn't right. Galahad, immobile, was posed as if attempting to run, and Te'ijal stood just behind him with something raised to the exposed skin on the back of his neck. Rhen squinted. A... necklace, still worn by the vampire. Under the prolonged screams, she could hear Te'ijal giggling oh so quietly.

Lars and Dameon straightened and whipped around to watch as the paladin's soul was sucked clean from his body.

_"Monster!"_ cried Dameon. He pushed Galahad away to confront her, but it was too late. Galahad slumped uselessly to the floor, and Te'ijal pressed the swirling necklace back to her bosom.

"What a sweet sound he made for me!" she crooned.

Dameon raised a fist to strike her down, but her reflexes were inhuman. She caught his wrist and held it there in a viselike grip.

"You cannot touch me, _priest._ I have the power of a potent soul at my disposal!"

"Help me..." gasped Galahad, rising to his feet and stumbling. "What has she _done?!"_

"I have taken your soul for my own! Now, you must do as I command!" She giggled gleefully once more. "Oh, how I have longed to say those words. 'Tis only now I have found a soul worth capturing!"

"Te'ijal!" Lars was not half as incensed as he ought to have been, but he figured he would make a show of objecting. "Put it back."

"That will not work." Te'ijal rolled her eyes.

"Okay, fine. Let Dameon go."

"But he is _rude!"_

"Let him go."

She clicked her fangs. "Fine."

Dameon slunk back, casting a spell on his wrist. "If I had been there when my asinine _mother_ took you on board...."

"You weren't," said Lars. "And before you start, killing her will kill Galahad, too."

"Well--!"

"We can't leave her here _alone._ She'll put her undeath on the line to help us save the world if we keep her with us. Is that enough penance for you?"

Rhen, who supported Galahad as he tried to remain on his feet, wasn't pleased. "I can't _believe_ this mess we're in."

Te'ijal pouted. "I do not see what you are all so upset about."

Elini had been cackling into her hands since Galahad first screamed. John, mouth agape, was too shocked to move. Rhen shook her head and hauled Galahad closer.

_What would Peter think?_

Peter would probably laugh.

She missed his laugh.

She was happy for him. He'd live a fantastic life in Sedona. Sophie was near, and it seemed that "dashing young fromager" he'd found had taken more than just an idle interest in him... but she would still miss him.

Galahad leaned his weight against her, though she was over a foot shorter than him; nearly two in his armor. She felt suddenly weak. "John, come help me."

John dutifully hopped to, ran around the table, and lifted Galahad's other arm over his shoulders. "Steady, Gal."

The paladin didn't even protest the nickname. His head, cast downward, leaned toward John. "I am a ruined man, John... if I still am a man."

"You'll be all right, mate." John shot Te'ijal a scalding glare. "You'll be all right."

 

 

Lars spent the evening sitting on a bench gazing across the fishing wharf on the south side of the city. His elbows rested on his knees, his spine hunched. Realizing this when a sailor bade him good evening in passing, he self-consciously stretched and met the back of the bench. He hadn't noticed that his posture had gradually curled inward over the course of the past couple months, but tonight, he could feel every inch of his body. He was aware of everything, and he had to remind himself once or twice that numbing the beautiful, agonizing awareness was no good reason to break his self-imposed sobriety, even if that sobriety had only just begun.

Lars had never kissed anyone before. No one had kissed him, either. He hadn't realized how _conscious_ it would make him, how anchored he would become to his own physicality. He wanted to feel Dameon against him again, to hear against his face that hot breath and the slight noises that came with it. The want itself was a physical force, tangling and pulling inside his chest. That was his awareness.

He knew that he couldn't dwell on what he'd done. There was an odd, uncomfortable relief that he'd done it at all underneath the desire to do it again (and again, and again). Lars had learned to listen to the grounded thing inside himself that told him to keep moving, that the sun would rise tomorrow and new things would transpire.

Rhen had told him something like that, too, when he babbled to her in restrained fear on the deck of the ship they'd bought in Veniara. _"We live in a magical world, Lars Tenobor. Reef the sails and let the waves take control."_

Lars took a deep breath. The salt in the air was normal to Lars, now; even relaxing. Rhen always smelled like this. So did John.

John... John was a comfort. Eight months ago, he would've felt something very different had he seen the man on the streets of Veldarah, but that morning, as they caught one another watching Rhen speak quietly with Danny by the smoking maypole, John laid a surprisingly gentle arm around Lars' shoulders and they walked away together.

"He _hurt_ her," Lars spat, more emphatically than expected.

"I know." John's face was grim. "Believe me; I know."

It didn't always take long to forge yourself new family, Lars realized alone on the wharf as he stared over his shoulder at the sunset.

"Oi, Whiskey."

Lars blinked hard. He looked down.

"Yep; I'm talkin' to you, brother."

The thick western accent belonged to a child with an unfortunate bowl-cut situation and a well-worn outfit in green and blue. His teeth were mismatched in size when he showed off his wide grin. Lars wasn't fantastic at guessing ages, but the kid couldn't have been more than ten.

Lars sighed. "I'm guessing you've seen me before."

"Smelt you, too! Though you're stinkin' a right sight better now than you was last time."

"What do you want?"

The grin grew even wider. "Two hundred pennies, and I'll tell your fortune."

"Are you _serious,_ kid?"

"What? You don't b'lieve in my _unconscionable psychic powers?"_

"You're using that word wrong."

"Maybe I am using that word _incorrectly,_ Mister Whiskey, but I ain't no common urchin." To Lars' irritation, the kid and his smug smirk plopped onto the bench next to him. "I can, for instance, tell you who else's gonna be sittin' on this bench with you in a couple o' minutes."

Lars raised his eyebrows to mask how absurd he felt when his heart beat in double-time. "Sure you can."

"Come on. Two hundred gold 'uns and you never have to listen to the flappin' o' these gums again. What d'you say?"

"Fine." Lars sighed heavily and unclasped his coin purse. As he counted out two hundred pennies, he asked, "Got a name?"

"Not to you, I don't! I keep my business rela'nships strictly professional."

"O-o-okay. Here you go; as requested." Lars made a show of pomp as he dropped a handful of pennies into the kid's outstretched drawstring bag. "Are you not gonna bother counting them?"

"Don't need to. I'm a psychic, remember? I know exactly how much you stiffed me." The boy grinned again and tucked away his bag. "So! You got a question, or are you just gonna let the arts do their work?"

"Hmm." Dameon crossed Lars' mind, but he was embarrassed at the very thought. "Just surprise me."

"Comin' right up."

The kid dug around in his pocket for a minute before producing what looked like a scrap of paper. Lars squinted. On closer inspection, as the boy worked his fingers into it, he could see that it wasn't a scrap; it was a deliberately folded structure with four corners and an angular maw--a paper fortune teller.

He groaned. "Seriously? I just paid you two hundred gold pennies for--"

The kid's eyes began to glow blue, their pupils and irises disappearing entirely. Lars shut his mouth.

_"Troubles of the heart, Prophet?"_

That voice was definitely not the boy's voice.

_"How can this be? You left Ghalarah with no one, and you sit before me in possession of a sister, her brothers, and half a slew of mothers."_ The Oracle tutted and shook her (his?) head. _"But even this isn't enough for you."_

Lars flushed. She wasn't wrong.

_"Dameon came not from my flesh--what there is of it--but he is my son. We are all entangled in this business of prophecy. Take comfort in unity, for it won't last. That said..."_

She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her voice was mingled with that of the boy, together somehow deeper than either alone.

_"RECKONING AND RESOLUTION SHALL FALL AS ONE BY ONE WEEK'S END."_

The boy's eyes returned to normal. He winked and put away his fortune teller, and before Lars could find his voice again, the child had left.

Lars swallowed. The shaking didn't stop. He swallowed again. _What happened to a good old-fashioned private call through the psychic link? Why does she have to be so damn dramatic?_

_By... one week's end?_

He shuddered and realized he'd slouched again. He did his best to sit up; it felt horrid in his gut, but he knew how bad slouching was for his back. Rhen had asked all of them to spar with her as a training exercise whenever they had downtime, and Lars' back proved his downfall this afternoon, rendering him vulnerable in pain to a stunning projectile from the sheen of her sword. No more slouching. By the sound of things, they would need the practice... if their quest would be over in seven days.

Someone sat on the bench beside Lars, and his heart leapt and scrambled.

"Hey, green bean."

Lars let out a breath. "Hey, Peter."

Peter rolled his neck over the edge of the bench. "Or maybe you'd make a better cabbage."

"I thought you only did wild plants."

"There's wild cabbage! Where'd you think it came from in the first place?"

"What do you want?" Lars didn't care how disappointed he sounded.

"'Want'?" Peter scoffed. "To say hello. You're my friend."

"I thought you hated me."

"Well... yeah, I did. Rhen told me how awful you were to her."

"And...?"

Peter shrugged. "Changed my mind."

It was Lars' turn to scoff. "What, just like that? I don't have to grovel or anything?"

"I mean, you can if you want to."

"Well...." Lars sighed through his nose. "Why would you change your mind?"

"Maybe you're more of a liverwort."

"Please answer?"

"That. That's it." Peter snapped his fingers and shifted to face Lars, one knee curling below him on the bench. "That's why. You say things like 'please' and I think I even heard you thank someone once. You treat Rhen like you _care_ about her."

"I do care about her!"

"You act like it! I don't know how much you care about anyone _else--_ maybe that awful priest guy, but I got the impression you wanted him more than you cared about him--" (Lars winced and pushed the thought away) "--but you listen to Rhen and you know what she needs. She isn't a project or an interest."

"You really are her brother," murmured Lars.

Peter smiled sadly. "You notice things like that."

"Why are you staying?"

"Maybe you're just a moss."

_"Peter."_

"Why do you get to ask all the questions, huh? When's my turn?"

"Go ahead, if you really want to."

"Why _do_ you care about her?"

That stopped Lars' mind in its tracks and spun it instead in circles. Why did he? Why did he care at all? Devin told him he did, but that was a lie, or maybe he'd begun to care because so many people believed he did--but why had he come in the first place? Intellectual curiosity? Hero worship? What was Rhen to him? She was... a _teenager,_ only half a month older than him, and she might've moved planets with her birth, but that wasn't _her_ fault. She just existed. Like him. With him. It wasn't Rhen Pendragon, the concept, the idol, the princess, who was his friend.

It was just Rhen.

Peter reached over to wipe a tear from Lars' cheek, then flicked it away. Lars swallowed.

"That's good enough an answer for me," murmured Peter.

Lars shook his head vigorously and wiped the uninvited tears on his own sleeve. He sniffed, then had a nervous laugh at his own expense. "I look pathetic, don't I."

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do!"

Peter rested an arm on the bench behind Lars. "You don't. You look like a sequoia."

Lars glanced up from his hands to fix Peter with an incredulous look. "What?"

"Tallest trees in the whole world. I've never seen them, but I've read about them in books. It's rumored that elves live in them. They're so tall that they can smother anything under them, but you know what else?"

"I don't understand--"

"They can protect anything under them, too."

Lars swallowed.

"I can't be her Cedar anymore. I've gotten tough enough to break up a street fight or beat back a few orcs, but I'll never be tough enough to take down a demon lord." Peter glanced away. "I can't be her Cedar. But you can be her Sequoia."

Lars and Peter sat on the bench together until the stars were bright enough to make teardrops of the last falling leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sedona wasn't ready for this.


	27. Dameon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And you thought LARS was a ridiculous teenager?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language warning.
> 
> You have no idea how long I've been waiting to write this chapter. (Okay, I also said that about the last chapter... but still.)

That bastard would ruin everything if he took one look. Ahriman's servants had a unique way of being _near_ one another's minds in the way that the spokes of a wheel converged at a central point. Through their Father, they knew all. That's why Dameon wanted to go to Mysten Far before he slipped any further.

He was talented at restraining his own emotions--for the most part. Talia made him lose his temper frequently. Everything else was suppressible, even... ah, no, no. The trick was not to think about it. His active mind was always on the brink of failure at the cliff of contemplation, and he couldn't let it plummet now. The land of dreams made suppressed thoughts and emotions bare themselves quite clearly, as if stitched into one's skin. Dameon had to maintain _control,_ even when "control" meant binding himself in chains. Especially then.

That lavender-haired hellion nearly unraveled him. _"Dameon, it would be much quicker to defeat the demon first instead of doubling back." "Don't be ridiculous, Dameon! It's simple geography." "We're going to Thais first, Dameon, and that's my final word."_ What a nightmare she was, for someone who claimed not to be cut out for royalty. It grew harder by the day to maintain his facade of infatuation, and of course he knew it wasn't working a bit, but... what else could he...?

_Defeat leads to fear. Fear leads to desperation. Desperation leads to death._

Dameon closed his eyes and repeated the mantra in his mind. He could hear nothing but the swish of soft grass, the rustling of iridescent leaves, and the gentle _clink_ ing of armor as his companions stalked through the tense Dreamworld around him.

He wouldn't let himself be defeated. If he kept his mind clear, or focused on what _mattered,_ he wouldn't slip. Even in this maddening purple hellscape, which threatened to slash him open and let his ugliest truths come spilling out, he would be fine. After all, the propensity for controlling dreams ran in his blood.

Remaining grounded would keep him alive, so he reflected on the concrete details of the past two days, as he had many, many times already. They stayed in Sedona overnight (against his wishes, but _hush, enough of that,)_ and Rhen received a package the next morning containing a standard-issue sword singer outfit and a triumphant letter from the eastern empress herself. Dameon wondered who among them was in contact with the empress, but it didn't matter. Rhen insisted on the party saying goodbye to Peter before they left. He and Peter each valiantly attempted, for her sake, not to act like they _completely_ despised one another. They rode the dragon to Land's End, a journey spanning three or four hours; Elini had the foresight to pack cold sandwiches for the ride. With some difficulty, they found the way into the enchanted forest, then spent another hour listening to John and Elini shout at one another to mask their confusion that neither of them seemed to know where the clock was hidden or how to access it.

After traversing a few caves, finding a number of strange objects (including a bone that _stank_ of curses) and getting thoroughly soaked by waterfalls, the party stumbled upon what appeared to be a guard dog outside a modest vegetable patch, from which they heard chipper, melodious whistling. They mollified the dog using the cursed bone and investigated the whistling. The old woman responsible for the patch offered to plant something for Rhen, and of course she had nothing to plant, but John realized this must be the location of the beanstalk of yore. Elini said something along the lines of _"Wonderful, but there is no beanstalk here now"_ to which John responded _"Obviously there isn't; and where the hell would we find giant beans"_ to which Elini responded, sarcastically, _"Perhaps a FAIRY TALE OGRE would possess your mythic 'giant beans',"_ and then Rhen and John both got very quiet.

Reaching the top of a mountain on a dragon takes very little time if you know what you're doing, so John fetched some beans from Mount Orion while everyone else waited at the vegetable patch. The old woman made pleasant enough, if peculiar, conversation. Her name was Euterpe. She didn't mention her age.

And the beans grew, and there were crows flapping about the stalk, and Galahad was afraid of heights, so the vampire graciously allowed him to remain below (in her company). The clock above was frozen solid in a block of ice. Elini said _"If only we had a source of heat to melt this ice!"_ and Lars wordlessly dropped a fireball on it.

The sun was setting by the time they were through with the clock, so Euterpe let them spend the night in her vegetable garden. _"'Tis not safe to roam Land's End at night,"_ she said. Rhen and John burst into laughter.

The next morning--the morning at present--they flew to the continent of Thais. This journey also took a few hours as they had to navigate a demonic storm now darkening the coast of the eastern isle and stretching as far east as even the vampire could see.

The Blasted Lands, once fertile farmlands surrounding the city of Thais, were now difficult terrain, full of strange mutant animals and humanoids. Dameon's "scouts"--that is, Father's demons--told him exactly where to find the caves; although, of course, they couldn't help but taunt him with a little malicious mischief, and they laid traps to blind him or cut off his magic here and there. The sun druid's shadowy coworkers didn't much care for him.

Aesma was destroyed easily. Dameon didn't bat an eye. It was dangerous--very dangerous--to consider that their Father sacrificed the lives of his own Children, planning for them to fall in battle against the Chosen One, just to pave the way for Dameon and the true plan.

Dameon took a quiet, deep breath of the still Dreamworld air. _Fear leads to desperation._

Rhen made up many excuses not to visit the city that evening. She was a coward--but Dameon couldn't let his disdain show, so it was easier not to dwell on that. They finally flew to Mysten Far, and some priestess named Oyane was ecstatic to see Rhen and John, so they were granted entry to the Dreamworld, and... there they were.

"Ugh... what are we even looking for in here?"

Lars' voice didn't make Dameon's heart jump like an electrocuted dove. Dameon was stronger than that.

He realized after a second that everyone was silently glancing back at him because he was the only one who might have that information. Truthfully, he didn't, but he was a lucky guesser. "We're looking for something ostentatious. A little otherworldly. It won't be buried in a cave; it'll be a symbol that we can see clearly."

"Then why can we not see it clearly now?" complained the vampire.

"Elevation, trees. Pick your favorite obvious answer."

"We've attracted company," warned John, drawing his rapier and gesturing at the approaching spirits.

Dameon shifted into his battle stance. He didn't get to use his magic much outside of combat; Lars, the sorcerous paragon, was nearly as good a healer as he, and only stopped practicing light magic when he was filling an enemy's lungs with acid from within its unfortunate body. Lars was possibly the most creative, talented, and deviously inventive person Dameon had ever--

_Defeat, fear, desperation, death._

A moderately-corporeal ravwyrn slashed glistening talons at Rhen, hexing her with silence. Dameon dispelled the silence and prepared to cast a mass shield. There was no room for those thoughts. No room. Not in the Dreamworld.

The dream spirits were difficult to kill, even with the battling party as well-trained and well-equipped as they finally were. Rhen, while challenged, was systemically successful. Her recent training sessions left them all bewildered. Dameon didn't expect to succeed in combat against her, but the clean swiftness with which she dispatched him was unexpected nonetheless, and he saw it again every time she cut down a spirit. He sincerely hoped he would never need to fight her in earnest.

Dameon stayed at the rear of the pack as they continued forward. He carried the map now, as well as the ink, as well as a great deal of healing supplies... it wasn't a difficult load for him at all, but he didn't want to be ambushed by whatever lay ahead while unbalanced by hefty gear. He silently recounted everything he carried one more time. It was an objective list. Nothing dangerous to think about.

A cool breeze brushed his hair from his face. He noticed he was at the top of a sudden hill, and his groupmates were walking down in such a fashion that he could survey them all at once. Not one to pass up an opportunity to judge and index, Dameon considered each in order from where he stood.

The vampire, he hated without reserve.

Galahad, he pitied. The paladin loved light and the Goddess, so Dameon felt some obligation to the man, but there was nothing about him which Dameon especially liked. _No light truly shines through closed eyes._

Elini, he was fond of at first. In retrospect, he should've pretended to fuss over the demon summoning; that was a foolish oversight. It didn't matter anymore. She'd grown cold.

John was a damnable nuisance. If anyone were to ruin Father's plot, it would be John.

Dameon shut his eyes for a second, skipping over a spot in the queue.

And so... Rhen. Rhen was an annoying necessity. The plan was for him to spend forever with her under Father's ultimate sovereignty, but the thought made Dameon a little sick. She wasn't a terrible person, and Dameon was gradually forcing himself to think of her as a friend; she was just so... detached. He felt as if he could blow on her and she would lose her footing and float away.

He didn't think most of them liked him, either, but here he was. At least he had one undisputed friend.

_That doesn't MATTER._

"Look at that palace!"

Elini's awed voice anchored Dameon back in safety. There it was--the symbol he knew they would find. The crystalline palace glittered in the cold light of the stars, a warning to Dameon: _"Everything above you is watching now."_

Agas was in there. The wheel turned, and Dameon with it.

Rhen and her cohorts charged into the palace, knowing that there would be a battle ahead--because there always was, and they were fine with that--and Dameon froze behind. This was a test. Could he cross the threshold? Was his force of will strong enough to lock up what he didn't want Father to know?

No.

It wasn't.

Dameon walked away.

He was shaking. No one saw him leave; he was certain of it. He found a copse of trees and clambered over the roots. He was not used to such primal endeavors, so his robe caught on a thorn, and it took him three tries to remove it with his trembling hands.

He'd never run away from anything before. Had he?

This was an impulse. Dameon didn't really _feel_ as frightened as he _thought._ Maybe he intellectualized his emotions too much--no; he just _wasn't_ afraid, because _fear leads to desperation and desperation leads to death,_ and he was _not_ afraid, and he was _not_ going to die. He was disciplined. His shuddering and fleeing body was just... incorrect, this time.

But he couldn't get up and leave. He couldn't tell his legs to take him to the palace.

He raised his knees to his chest and rested his forehead upon them, waiting out his tremors in the hidden space between the purple trees.

He didn't want to see that bastard anyway. Dameon had never liked Agas. Father loved him. With zeal, Agas had pursued the executioner of Father's most valuable human agent, but... perhaps... with too much zeal. Excessive zealotry was a trait which Dameon had never liked in worshipers or in men-at-arms, shortly behind insensitivity and pride. Agas held all three in spades.

It's not that he felt sympathy for Talia for the way she was treated during the months of pursuit. But... no. He abhorred insensitivity, and Talia was terrorized and hurt--

_Hurt? As if any physical harm could exceed that which she did to my father._

Dameon hugged his legs closer and looked up to the treetop canopy. Leaves fell like wine dripping from the spout of a pitcher. Whatever this emotion was, he wasn't feeling it. He wasn't, he wasn't, he wasn't.

His gut curled. Agas had _tortured_ his m--

_"LARS!"_

Rhen's shriek made Dameon's spine snap straight. He nearly leapt from the trees, ready to bolt into the palace and fix whatever had just gone wrong. If the worst had happened, if Lars needed his help, if he hadn't been there in the end-- _oh, gods--_ the curl in his gut wrenched and became a tempest.

But he couldn't reveal himself to Agas, to their Father. Lars wasn't important. The mission was important. The mission _wasn't about Lars._

Dameon was on his feet before he realized what he was doing. His head swam and his chest felt hot. He knew it wasn't right, he _knew_ his objective, but Lars-- _Lars--_ Lars _was_ important, _so_ important....

The screaming was over, and Rhen's song resumed, echoing in the high ceiling of the crystal palace. Dameon strained his ears for any sign that Lars was okay. There was a strange bubbling, followed by an explosion of liquid, and Dameon racked his brain to recall whether Lars had ever used a geyser spell in combat before. Lars, and his brilliant mind; Lars, generating new ideas like flowers blossoming on a tree, and Dameon, whose only wish, truly _felt_ deep in his heart, was to sit in peace beneath that tree, letting petals rain upon him. Dameon, who could live forever suspended in that moment at the parade, Lars' hand gentle on his face, a flower in his hair.

Lars, blasting someone into the air, liquid boiling beneath them, only to slam them onto the solid ground. He was okay. Dameon let out a wavering breath, and he laughed a little, very quietly, remembering John falling victim to that selfsame evocation. Lars was okay.

When Dameon first... thought about it, he wondered if maybe, _maybe_ he could get away with changing his plan. Making Lars the king of the demons, not Rhen the queen. All he had to do was boost Lars' confidence--make Lars believe he was good enough to defeat Ahriman without the Chosen One--and maybe they could take their revenge together. But then, they found her, and Dameon didn't have a choice.

Dameon leaned back against a tree, suddenly too exhausted to support all of his own weight. He couldn't believe the adrenaline that Rhen's scream had triggered within him. He hadn't _felt_ so much, been so ready to _fight_ without restraint, since the death of his father. His father, the only person he'd ever--no, the only person he'd loved in a long time. Nothing else inspired him to drop the meticulous guise he'd worn since the Oracle bestowed upon him the circlet of the sun druid. Why did _Lars_ do this to him? Why did some snotty little Ghalaran wunderkind make his heart beat faster than it did in battle?

He knew why, actually, but he refused to say it to himself. He couldn't. It would doom him, and it would doom Lars. Dameon squeezed his eyes shut.

 _You idiot. You still have the staff of the sun druid, so you're still the only human in Aia who can still cast a revival spell._ After _Agas is dead. Calm. Down._

It sounded like the fight was nearly over. Rhen's song switched to a major key. Staying in the copse suddenly seemed like a terrible, silly idea; they would soon wonder where he was. With a quiet sigh, Dameon extracted himself from the trees and exerted his best effort removing the twigs and brambles from his clothing as he walked to the palace entrance. When the palace interior was in view, he immediately looked about for green and blue, and there Lars was, posed regally against a backdrop of flame, one arm raised halfway as if it had just thrown, underhand, a ball of magical force.

When it connected, a battered Agas collapsed to the floor. Dameon was relieved.

For a moment.

Agas' bloodred eyes latched onto Dameon's, and they narrowed.

_"I see you, priest."_

Dameon resisted the urge to swallow his nerves. He had nothing to hide.

_"Liar."_

The color drifted from Agas' eyes at last, and the demonic soldier died.

Dameon was, in theory, terrified. He _thought_ terrified, but he didn't feel it. Their Father may very well have heard whatever information Agas gleaned from Dameon before the soldier passed, and that could be enough to ruin Dameon's plan and to get them all killed. That was a frightening thought.

But Dameon and his low capacity for emotion were too occupied with a different feeling now, so he intellectualized the terror and stuffed it away. He made for Lars, kicking Agas' corpse along the way.

Lars looked up from the bloody carpet, his eyes hard. Dameon saw now that his other arm lay limp and useless at his side. Blood trickled from his mouth.

"Where were you?" he murmured.

"I..." Dameon didn't know how to answer. "I was stuck in the corner, because of..."

"The force shield?" Lars provided Dameon's answer, although his face was still skeptical.

"Yes."

"I see." Lars turned away. "That's a shame."

"I can heal you now, if you--"

"Don't worry about it; I can do it myself." Lars' functional hand glowed with light, and he moved it slowly across his body, hovering first over his right shoulder.

Something in Dameon's chest dropped. Lars was rightfully pissed at him.

"You're incredibly skilled now, huh." Dameon tried to smile. "You can do pretty much everything."

Lars scowled. Internally, Dameon winced. _That sounded condescending._

But then, Lars turned his spite to Agas. His jaw clenched. "This is the one who tortured Talia, isn't it?"

"That's him."

Something in the way Lars glowered at the dead soldier made anger rise in Dameon, too. Agas _did_ torture Talia. He hated the woman--for certain, he hated her, no question--but Lars loved her, and Lars was good, _so_ good, and Dameon lo--Lars was his _best friend--_ and he couldn't see Lars angry like this, and maybe, if Lars loved Talia, she... she might be good, too.

Dameon squatted beside Agas, the heat creeping up his throat. He stayed still for a second as if waiting for the demon to pop back up and surprise him with an attack. When the corpse proved truly dead, Dameon wrenched the mask from his helmet and, summoning a little magic through his arms, snapped the mask in two.

Behind him, Galahad gaped. "That... that was _southern titanium!"_

Dameon just stared at him from the floor.

Rhen sighed and touched Galahad's arm. "It's magic, Galahad."

The paladin shook his head, one hand anxiously combing back his hair. Rhen gently led him away.

A mellow smile finally graced Lars' lips. "That was impressive."

Dameon's anger was replaced by a soft, melting, bittersweet feeling throughout his body. He smiled back and stood up straight. "You know I'm no twig under these robes."

"That's right." Lars stepped a little closer. He was blushing ever so slightly. "I've seen it."

"Body and mind, Lars." Dameon's voice threatened to slip away with Lars only a foot from him. "Body and mind."

They stood like that for a few long seconds, their eyes level, Dameon's head both swirling and blank. He suddenly wanted to grab Lars by the waist, pull him in, and kiss him thoroughly, and though he was a powerful mage who could dispel the strongest of hexes, he couldn't dispel the image from his mind, nor the memory of Lars' racing heart from his chest, nor the imprint of Lars' ravenous lips from his own.

"Lars!" called Rhen, and Dameon hastily stepped back, and the vexations flooded his psyche once more as Lars turned to find her.

 _You can't_ flirt _with him, you nitwit! Why did you do that? Rhen will see! Father will see! Everything will be ruined! Stop it stop it STOP it!_

Dameon watched Rhen grab the Dreamer's Tear from its pedestal as coolly as he could while contemplating the futility of his honeypot mission. He'd screwed it up irreversibly. It was harder than ever not to think that way, not with his heart falling a hundred feet per second; not in the Dreamworld.

_Defeat... fear._

"Dameon," said Lars, the sultry magic gone from his voice. His exhausted tone aged him a decade.

"What is it?"

"You have that rune, right? Take Rhen to Aveyond ahead of us and get Vata to the temple. I don't want to see that cloud reach Veldarah, and I know all of you--the druids, I mean--can stop it from spreading. We'll catch up on the dragon."

It baffled Dameon that Lars wanted to send Rhen _alone_ with him to the temple, but the logic was sound. There was a druidic ritual they could perform together in order to... what Lars said. Lars seemed to care more than anyone, certainly more than Rhen, about their mission. No one else was so grounded in the knowledge that Aia could end in a matter of weeks. If anyone would sacrifice the desires of his own heart in order to save the world, it would be Lars.

"Wait."

Dameon was surprised to hear John behind him. "What now?" he asked, hiding his irritation.

"I just want to talk to you for a minute."

Lars sighed. "It can't wait?"

"It'll only take a minute!"

"That's fine with me," decided Dameon. He turned to face John. "Outside?"

"Yeah."

There was something Dameon wanted to ask John, as it happened, so this sudden cooperation was no skin off his nose. They walked together to stand under the sparkling black sky. Careless, John turned to face Dameon and crushed a glowberry sprout beneath his boot.

"So..." John sighed. "What's your deal? Why are you feigning interest in Rhen? You want the throne or something?"

Dameon had to raise his eyebrows and act shocked. "'Feigning'? That's a crass accusation."

"Oh, come on. Your words are lukewarm and your demeanor is ice. You're faking, and you're faking _badly;_ I don't think you've ever romanced anyone in your life."

_Ouch._

"Well, I'm new at romance. As a druid, I haven't--"

"I don't believe you."

Dameon hesitated, then sighed.  _Don't lie to the occupational liar._  This wasn't a waste of time just yet, but his window of opportunity was closing.

"Fine. You don't have to believe me. Answer me one question anyway?"

John mused on that for a few seconds, his eye drifting to the unidentifiable constellations above. Eventually, he said, "Fine. Shoot."

"I don't know a whole lot about her," Dameon began. "I don't know what she likes, or... what she _is_ like. What it's like to be close to her. Who she is when she's happy."

"Who she is when she's happy," John repeated. "Interesting."

"I know that she's happy with you. Tell me about her."

A slow smile worked its way across John's face. He closed his eye for a moment. "Rhen... Rhen. Things change when she touches them. People change."

"Change?"

"Yeah. Change."

"So... how did she change you?"

John looked down now, his grin tinged with sadness. "You know, I was a nihilistic jackass most of my life. It was pointless to try to do anything, or to believe in anything, or to have morals, because it was always too much effort for an incredibly low chance of success. So I never tried."

"And?"

"And she makes me want to try."

For a long minute, only the crickets' lullaby pierced the chilly silence of the Dreamworld.

John's smile faded. "Was that enough information for you? Because I still don't believe you."

Dameon swallowed. "Yes. Thank you."

"Great. Now go do that thing you were going to do. And for the gods' sake, act like a normal person around her. She hates pretension."

"Mm."

He walked back into the palace and found Rhen with the tear across the pedestal. Lars was next to her. Dameon considered Rhen for a moment. She stood with her spine very straight, and, with each motion, her entire body flowed like a wave swelling and sinking to the wind's rhythm. Her face, her lilac eyes, were constantly astir. He recalled as he looked at her that those eyes were nearly always cast to the sky or to the sea.

He remembered her shouting, dancing, skipping, a little drunk. He remembered how she looked at Peter, Lars, John, Galahad. That smile on the palace steps, whatever it had meant, and how Lars' drawn face softened instantly. Urging forth the thoughts of her fellows at the manor table. Twirling between the lines on the mainsail yard. If nothing else... she was alive.

_Am I alive?_

That was enough of that. With own head high, Dameon took the rune from his pocket and strode to Rhen, doing his best to avoid Lars, but those eyes--hypnotic eyes, so light they were almost golden, eyes which demanded all of Dameon at once--caught him, and everything inside him sank and burned in that instant. He wasn't _supposed_ to feel anything, and now that he did, he knew it was countless orders of magnitude worse than hell. It seemed Dameon's heart itself was the sacrifice demanded by his Father.

Dameon rubbed his thumb over the rune and offered in to Rhen, but his mind was somewhere it wasn't meant to be. He knew he should never have gotten close to Lars. Never. Not to alter the mission. Not even to harmonize the group dynamic. Not for work, not for friendship, not for anything, no matter how hard he was falling in love.


	28. Something Borrowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: major character death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual content warning for brief mention of self-harm, creepy love potion stuff (similar to canon). Language warning.
> 
> Happy early birthday to Iztopher Darwin Ravenfoot-Teomes. I love you a million, li'l sibster!

Dry snow fell like ash on the streets of Thais on the night of Saturday, the seventeenth of December. Muffled, the grey stone couldn't protest its own pallor, and the ramparts slept beneath their blanket, for they could do naught else.

A lock of blond hair drifted idly to join the limp pile, dull in the candlelight, at the floor by Rhen's feet. She shifted left to reach the wispy bangs by Galahad's temple.

He sat in an old chair provided for him by Grey, the accommodating minister of the chapel, fully clad in his paladin armor but missing his cape. His hands were clasped in his lap and, despite Rhen's insistence on upright posture, his head was slightly bowed. As if to say there were enough snow and ice in Thais as it was, his glacial eyes were shut.

Rhen was no hairdresser, but it wasn't as if there were anyone else to do the job. She dreaded to think how Galahad would look if he cut his own hair. Biting her tongue, she snipped off one more feathery tuft before standing back down on her heels.

"Please try to sit up straight, Galahad; you're too tall even when you're sitting."

"My apologies."

Galahad's voice was grim, even moreso than the somber weather behind the fogged window. He leaned his head back a couple inches so Rhen could reach the uncut hair on the right side. She saw the edge of his face--his brow was so creased that she nearly didn't recognize him. He looked as if he hadn't slept or eaten in weeks. It was a horrible sight, and Rhen couldn't help but glance away.

_Should I have stopped this?_

 

 

With Vata returned to the temple, all the druids could begin work on the ritual to curtail the demons' strength. Dameon assured Rhen that no more demons would attack the western continent. He neglected to mention the rest of the Arishta Isles.

She slept very little that cool Wednesday night. There was space for her inside the sun shrine, but she refused it and laid down in the grass under the tree where she'd arrived. She unstrapped the sword from her back and set it beside her. After an uncomfortable minute staring up at the stars while flat on her back, she rolled onto her side, facing away from the sword, and closed her eyes.

That didn't work. Another minute later, she rolled over again, knees bent toward her stomach, and came nose-to-crossguard with the Sword of Shadows.

It wasn't a pretty sword. It wasn't even a very impressive sword; just a bit large. The dark leather scabbard had obviously seen several centuries of wear. Loose thread picked out of the seams here and there; Rhen idly toyed with a stitch as she ran her eyes down the tarnished hilt. Even the grip was fraying around the edges.

It was hers, now, and ideally no one else's til the end of time, no matter how Rhen wished it would be so.

 

 

"Rhen."

Rhen stopped the blade of the scissors in her hand. "What is it?"

Galahad's voice was soft. "Do you recall what I spoke of on the ship from the eastern isle?"

"You'll have to be more specific than that." Rhen hid her resignation. He spoke of very few things on that voyage, and she knew what he meant.

"About... Blanchefleur."

She swallowed. "Yes, I recall."

"I think I've come to understand."

Rhen didn't speak for a moment. She removed the hand clamping the scissors and resumed her task. "You can tell me if you'd like."

Galahad sighed--gently, not dramatically; not the way Rhen had come to expect. "She spoke of a story that I followed to the letter. That of the gallant paladin and the maiden he wed in his prime, their courtship a classic thing sung of by bards through the ages. But when the story is demanded, it turns ill."

"Demanded?"

"Acted deliberately, as though a play onstage."

Rhen bit her lips together. "I see."

"I felt for the story more than I ever felt for her."

She didn't want to say it. Even though he already knew of her childish ignorance and could relate to it in its entirety, she didn't want to say that she understood exactly what he meant. It pained her.

"So... Blanchefleur. Is she still in Sedona?"

Rhen had to reach forward and tilt Galahad's chin up as he hung his head in preparation for a lament, her fingers brushing the soft petals of his boutonniere. He cleared his throat quietly. "She is not."

"Why? Where is she?"

"She was shamed."

Rhen raised an eyebrow. "Shamed?"

"The city of Sedona believes me a good man, perhaps the most glorious paladin of my age." His voice cracked as he spoke. "I was loved beyond measure. When Blanchefleur broke our engagement, despite the fault lying with me, she was shunned. She stayed in her father's home for a month, barely seen by the town, before she... vanished."

"Vanished? Did she run away?"

Galahad was silent.

Rhen realized she'd lowered the scissors. She raised them back to Galahad's scalp. She had to be _tactful,_ she remembered, and not just curious. She scoured her brain for the right thing to ask.

"Um... you said you've come to understand. Why now?"

There was a _clank_ as Galahad shifted in his seat. "I have realized what she truly wanted--for me, not only herself. I am not meant to follow a path; I have certainly forgone any semblance of convention by traveling with you and Captain John. In this ultimate failure I have suffered, I have realized that I--I am not... _meant..._ for anything."

"Galahad, don't say--" Rhen started, but Galahad held up a hand.

"It is better," he said, "to know what one wants."

Rhen's hand began to wobble. She snipped an uneven lock from Galahad's head.

"And I... I finally understand... that I deserve to pursue that which I want."

This was too much. Trying and failing to maintain her composure, Rhen dropped the scissors and leaned her hands against his pauldrons, supporting herself more than comforting him, her forehead pressed to his chilly backplate. He shook his head.

"And it is now too late."

 

 

"I believe I have discovered the man I shall bring home to Veldt!"

Elini looked incredibly smug as she told this to Rhen, her arms crossed in a jacket much too large for her. Sparse flecks of snow glinted in her silver hair.

Rhen was incredulous. "Wait. Even after what happened last night?"

Elini ignored the question. "Now, it is only you who live without a paramour! Of the women, I mean."

They roamed the street together, dipping in and out of stores selling artwork, kitchenware, and jewelry. It was Elini's idea to hunt down a "girls' gift" for Te'ijal--something from just the two of them. Rhen didn't understand why Elini was so enthusiastic about this wedding and all these excessive customs, but there was little else to do but train on that brisk Friday afternoon, so she humored the woman.

She rolled her eyes when Elini wasn't looking. "Technically, you've been married for a while, so when Te'ijal--"

Elini flapped her hand dismissively. "My husbands do not count."

"Wait... why not?"

"I have had them for so long! They are _different_ for me now. You are not Veldti; you would not understand."

"If you say so."

"So." Elini grinned. "Why is it that you remain detached?"

"You mean, why am I not engaged, or whatever?"

"Yes! You could wed Lars, or I suppose even Dameon if you--"

"Ugh." Rhen rubbed her forehead. "Stop."

With a pout, Elini stared at the window of a dress shop. "Why do you reject love?"

"I'm just not interested, Elini."

"Let us go into this shop. How can you not be interested in _love?"_

Rhen sighed. She didn't know how to explain this, especially since she'd only figured it out recently. "I'm just... not. I think I tried to force myself once, but I don't feel whatever it is that most people feel. Other parts of life are more important to me."

"But love is what we chase! Romance is the ultimate thrill and the ultimate comfort!"

"You know there's more than one kind of love, Elini? Families, friends, friends that are family. Frankly, I think I've got love in spades."

"I do not understand you." Elini shook the snow from her hair once they were inside the shop.

"Well, I don't understand... your weird kind of love, either." Rhen gestured as if she could describe Elini's idiosyncratic relationships with her splayed hands.

"So you do not wish to marry. Will you be queen alone on the throne?"

Rhen turned away, flushing. That was a direct hit. Elini always got under her skin, but thinking about her future-- _that_ particular future, especially--made her want to vomit. She was in Thais, and she couldn't even bring herself to look up at the palace; certainly not since what happened that morning. Was it really a step forward to have visited at all? Rhen didn't know _what_ she would do, and even if she became queen, she certainly wouldn't marry either of the ridiculous men-children who helped her get there.

"We'll see what happens," she responded, and the phrase made her feel a little better and a little worse.

 

 

Galahad's hair was trimmed at last, all the ends clipped uniformly to match the curvature of his head. Rhen left the top just a little longer than the rest in hopes that he would feel somewhat more comfortable as he eased into his new appearance. When he looked into the mirror, however, he nestled his face in his hands and made a distressed noise.

She strode to his side and placed a hand on his back. "This is going to be good for you, Galahad. You'll get your soul back. She can't control you anymore."

"There must be a better way," he whispered.

Rhen paused. _What if there was, and we didn't even try to find it?_

"There is nothing we can do now." Galahad dropped his hands. "Her pendant will hold me to our deal."

Rhen's stomach swirled. It seemed more evident by the word that she could've stopped this. She wasn't powerless. She owned the Sword of Shadows, for the Goddess' sake--she didn't know _what_ she could do, but she should've done it. She could... finish fights that others start, maybe. She could tell people where to go. She could tell people _no._

"Come on, Galahad." She gave him what she hoped was a comforting look. "Let's get you into your wedding cape."

Rhen had to stand on the chair in order to clasp the white cape onto Galahad's shoulders, nearly falling once. He walked to the mirror to frown at himself.

"Turn around so I can see you!" she bade, feeling sicker than ever behind her false smile. He looked very nice in the white cape, if somewhat desaturated. Quite pale, in fact. And... terribly, terribly sad.

"My life is over," he mumbled, his waxen eyes meeting hers.

She stepped down from the chair and approached him. He was over a foot taller than her, especially in his armor, but he didn't look the part of the behemoth now. He was a steel doll nearly torn apart; Rhen felt as if she could see the stuffing leaking from his polished joints. She held out her arms, and when he did nothing, gently tucked them under his and pressed herself against the disconsolate metal. Galahad stood statuesque for a second before reciprocating her embrace, and when he did, it was obvious that the number of years he'd gone without giving a hug far exceeded the number of hugs he'd ever given.

 

 

After Rhen and Dameon teleported to Aveyond on Wednesday, the rest of the party returned (with some difficulty) to Mysten Far and, exhausted as they were, accepted the priestess' offer of sanctuary for the night. John flew the dragon--"Bertha", as he affectionately called it--to Aveyond on Thursday morning to say hello to the shrine's current residents and to pick up Rhen. The party, minus Dameon, went to Thais together in the afternoon.

That flight took a few hours. Rhen, who hadn't slept very well in the grass the previous night, slumped forward to doze off with her cheek pressed against John's back. He stayed very still until she woke up.

"Ugh... John... where are we?"

"Judging by the darkening of the stratus below us, I'd say we're over the Eldredth past the northeastern coast of the eastern continent."

Rhen groaned a little. "Eastern continent... southern continent... why don't they have _names?_ Why do we have to call them that?"

John chuckled. "Well, if I was a gambling man--and I am--I'd betcha the queen of Thais could make up whatever names she wants."

"Arishta isn't part of Thais," Rhen grumbled. She sat herself up on the back of the dragon.

Bertha snorted and the clouds before them cleared. John glanced down. "Oh, we're much closer to Thais than I thought. Looks like the weather isn't great down there." He tugged on the reins and Bertha began its descent.

The weather was not, in fact, great down there; although the snow had yet to begin, the clouds were low and roiling, darker even than the swirling shadows in the sword at Rhen's back. To her relief, no red lightning crackled in the air that evening. Perhaps the druids' ritual was already working.

It was freezing on the ground. The hard dirt cracked beneath Rhen's feet as she dismounted. The weather wasn't terribly comfortable in her new armor-dress, and she wished she'd bought a cloak in Sedona; it was mid-December, after all.

But Elini seemed to suffer the most. Her teeth were chattering and her whole body shaking as soon as Bertha landed. In an uncharacteristic show of clumsiness, she slipped on the way down the dragon's back, and she would've landed face-first had John not been there to steady her.

"Whoa, there." One rope-callused hand caught her left shoulder and the other arm slid under her feet. He grunted a little as Elini's sandals found purchase, but he held his pose until she was safely off her foothold and on the ground. "Little weird for you, especially after seeing you dance like a--"

"--crackling flame?" she finished, smug even through her shivering jaw.

"I was going to say one of those spinny toy tops, like the ones kids play with on the solstice." John didn't blink as Elini pouted at him.

Behind him, Rhen grinned. "That's in a few days! Are you going to get me something?"

"If you behave yourself. You all right, Elini?"

Pretending not to notice the massive goosebumps on her arm, Elini nodded. "I am fine."

"Great. Let's get going."

John hailed the gatekeeper at the border of the city. The woman inspected each of the traveling party, carefully judging whether each was human enough to enter. When she reached Te'ijal, John quickly explained that their pale purple friend suffered from methemoglobinemia, which he said entirely too fast for the gatekeeper to contest. Eyebrows were raised, and the gate shortly thereafter.

Rhen couldn't hold back a snicker. "You've been reading."

"What, is that not hip with the kids anymore?"

"Where do you _get_ this stuff?"

John smiled. "Here and there. I swiped a medical dictionary from that crate of books; remember, on the day I met you?"

Rhen gasped and swatted his arm. "You saved a book and you didn't _tell_ me?!"

"And now I know something you don't!"

They fell into an amused silence, listening to the sounds of the city around them. Rhen tried not to feel unnerved by its relative hush. In Sedona, she could always hear dozens of people chattering or moving about at once; carts, children, buskers, fountains, merchants, errant livestock. In Thais, the citizens and their wares hid indoors. Very few people walked the once grand streets, and fewer spoke. Rhen heard no one laugh.

_They're terrified._

The sound of Elini's chattering teeth approached from behind. Rhen glanced over her shoulder; the woman did not look happy.

"Are we near our destination?" asked Elini, her voice wavering.

John gave her a sympathetic look, then started. "Elini!"

"What?"

"Your fingernails. Uh... you didn't paint them that color, did you?"

Elini looked at her hand and was surprised to see the purplish-blue tint of her perfectly filed nails. "Oh. No, I did not."

John immediately unbuttoned and removed his navy coat. He handed it to her. She gaped.

"John... your coat?"

He waved it at her. "Take it, for the love of...!"

Elini gingerly took the coat from his hand, staring at him wide-eyed the entire time. She put it on one arm at a time, still agape, and hugged her chest. The coat was massive on her, nearly like a cloak; it fell just past her knees, and the buttons couldn't be fastened without the collar drooping over her shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured, almost to herself.

 

 

Rhen hurried to her seat in the pews. She and Elini hadn't found outfits yesterday to rent for the wedding. Bridesmaids, she was certain, were meant to look nice and to match one another, although she'd never attended a city wedding in her life, so she was only guessing. She felt silly in her sword singer costume (but Elini looked equally silly in that enormous jacket).

The bride, on the other hand...

Ah, there was the pipe organ. Was it meant to play the bridal chorus in that odd key?

Here she came.

Her dress was black as tar and layered as if to conceal contraband; she looked like John could use her for ballast. Rhen had to concede that the dress was well-crafted, but perhaps for a mourning widow with incriminating evidence to hide. In most lighting, its texture and embroidery would be lost, but the eerie, direct light of the chapel made the dress glisten like satin. A black veil reminiscent of a cloak's hood covered her buoyant hair, and the swirling pendant set in its silver necklace shimmered proudly at her breast.

Her bouquet was browning and wilting around the edges. It was difficult to find robust flowers in the middle of December.

 

 

Tensions ran high in the tavern the night they arrived. Elini kept John's coat, and although he didn't ask for it back, it was clear that he was freezing. From the loft, Rhen and Lars kept an eye on Te'ijal, but she didn't leave the bar, to their surprise, and it didn't seem as if she tried to seduce any patrons. One hand was in her lap and the other clutched a Bloody Mary, of which she took one sip before realizing it wasn't what she expected. Her eyes were on Galahad.

"What do you make of it?" whispered Lars to Rhen.

"Why are you whispering?"

"Magic vampire soul pendant senses."

"Right." Rhen lowered her voice. "Is she in love with him?"

Lars snorted. "Absolutely not."

"Well... is it some kind of... magical soul pendant connection thing?"

"Um... probably not."

"I guess she was staring at him from the moment they met." Rhen sipped her apple juice.

"I just don't get it. Why _him?"_

"I think she read too many white knight romance novels while she was stuck in Ghed'ahre," Rhen ventured.

"Five hundred and twenty nine years' worth of pro-paladin indoctrination." Lars shuddered. "So she's obsessed with him?"

"Pretty much."

"Gross."

"Shush; I want to hear what John and Elini are talking about."

Lars shrugged, and Rhen turned her eyes and ears to the high window bar where John, Elini, and Galahad sat. Elini and John were angled toward one another, and Galahad looked uncomfortable in front of his empty plate. Elini's shoulders were back, her hair combed quite deliberately away from her neck. Rhen didn't have to strain much to hear what she said; neither conversant was trying to be quiet, and the tavern wasn't especially full.

"You have been traveling with Rhen for some time now, yes?"

"Yep." John's eyepatch was facing Rhen, so she couldn't see his expression.

"So... has she... claimed you?"

"Uh... beg your pardon?"

"As _orand--_ as--as a lover?"

John burst into laughter so loud it echoed through the entire tavern. "You're _joking,_ right? Rhen is, what, _twelve_ years younger than me? And I'm not that old!"

Elini shifted away from him defensively. "How old--"

"None of your damn business! Rhen is my sister, full stop."

(Up in the loft, Rhen was grinning, chin cupped in her hands. _"I'm his sister!"_ she mouthed at Lars.)

"So, then..." Elini resumed her enticing pose. "You are... unclaimed."

"Oh, _ew,"_ gasped Lars.

"Ugh. I can't watch this."

"Let's see if Te'ijal has moved at all."

Rhen craned her neck. "Nope... still there."

"I almost feel bad for her."

"Fascinating! I don't."

Rhen and Lars' gossiping was cut short when they heard a _bang_ from the window bar. John's fists were hot against the table. At first, he spoke too quietly to be heard from the loft, but Elini had no compunction about volume.

"You are small-minded, and you have _no_ respect for anyone's culture!" she snapped.

"And _you_ have no respect for _anyone, period!"_ John seethed back.

"You need to learn a thing or two about the people you meet as you travel instead of sailing by everything good in the world!"

"It's not a crime that I want nothing to do with you!"

Galahad left for the central bar with his empty plate and a grimace. Te'ijal met him with open fangs.

When Elini stood from her stool, she got a bit shorter, but her posture was intimidating. "You want nothing to do with me because you are afraid!"

"I want nothing to do with you because you're _batsh--"_

Now, Galahad was growling something at Te'ijal. Rhen strained to hear both conversations at once. He might've said, "I would sooner die than continue life as your slave, monster."

And Te'ijal might've replied, "That can be arranged."

Elini was weeping. "Why will you not give happiness a _chance,_ Northerner?!"

"First of all," John hissed, "I'm not a 'Northerner'. Second of all, I'm not going to _marry_ you just because you can't find anyone who actually likes being around you."

"You are a _bastard,_ John!"

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Elini pushed away her stool, toppling the others beside it. She stormed out the tavern door.

Behind, at the bar, Galahad shook with rage so potent Rhen could hear the friction of armor against armor. She cast her eyes down and saw him by Te'ijal, looking for all the world like he wanted to snap her neck but was unable to do so because of the pendant's domination. Te'ijal seemed... oddly grim. She muttered something with venom on her tongue, but she couldn't finish before Galahad roared.

"I AM NOT YOUR HUSBAND!"

The paladin exited in the same fashion as Elini had moments before.

Te'ijal hung her head.

With a heavy sigh, John walked to the bar and slid onto the empty stool beside the vampress. He flicked his hand at the bartender. Intent on glaring down at the rapidly-warming drink between her tense hands, Te'ijal barely looked up at him. John turned and, through his exasperation, bestowed upon her an acerbic smile too false to falter.

"How 'bout a kiss?"

"You don't value your life, do you, uplander?"

 

 

"We are gathered here today to witness the joining of these two souls in holy matrimony..."

Lars stifled a snicker. Rhen kicked his shin.

"...not to be entered into lightly, but reverently, lovingly, and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons come now to be joined. If anyone can show just cause why they may not be joined together, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Rhen sighed. Galahad sighed.

 

 

Rhen's head fogged when she woke up in the inn in Thais on Friday morning, and it took her a moment to recall why they were there. It had something to do with the quest, of course, but... they already had the sword, the druidic ritual was beating back the demons, and they could easily fly to the temple and fight Ahriman immediately.

Or maybe not so easily. Blockaded by sea and its magical barricades vulnerable without Eithera in the caves, the southern isle was likely flooded with demons. Veldt would never be taken, not under the command of her battle queen, but the rest of the isle might be overrun. There would be only seven battlers plus Bertha to carve through an army of demons. As skilled as they were, they couldn't beat the odds alone.

They needed to petition the steward for aid, and that meant visiting the palace.

Rhen had to pretend she was okay with that. Part of her wanted to deny it, claim there was no need for assistance on the southern isle and that _yes,_ they _were_ good enough to destroy an entire continent full of demons, but under the jitters, she was still rational enough to know that wasn't true. That she just wanted to avoid something it was past time to acknowledge.

John led the party to the palace. Rhen kept the Sword of Shadows strapped to her back in plain view. She felt the signet ring in her hip satchel burning through the soft leather to leave an invisible mark on her hip, as if crying, _"this is not where I'm meant to be."_

The palace was nowhere near as gaudy as the king's palace in Sedona. The harsh grey stone cut the richness of the crimson fabrics, leaving the atmosphere stark and almost as cold as the flurry outside. High, domed ceilings dwarfed everyone inside, making them look like chess pieces for titanic players.

The throne sat on a ledge at the end of a long, wide hall, framed by two windows nearly as tall as the walls themselves. The steward, they found beside the throne but not sitting upon it. His blue finery stood out among the red furnishings. He raised his head from whatever official-looking document he was reviewing and fixed his eyes on the party.

"What can I do for you?"

They were silent for a moment, but when Rhen failed to speak, John and Lars stepped forward at the same time. They eyed one another awkwardly. John shrugged and let Lars address the steward.

"We've come from Aveyond," Lars declared with a touch of his old hauteur, "with the Sword of Shadows and its wielder, destined to defeat Ahriman and his demons."

Impatiently, John gestured for Rhen to step forward and show her sword. She winced and did so. She hated to unsheathe the thing; looking at it left a haunting tension in her heart.

The steward subtly recoiled before standing from his chair and meeting the party where they stood. He approached Rhen and ran his eyes up and down the sword.

"So this is the sword," he murmured.

"That's the one," said John.

"I see." The steward stepped back to face the whole party. "And what is it you want from the kingdom of Thais? We have already suffered the demons more than any other nation in Aia."

"We need your aid on the southern continent," said Lars. "Veldt may be overrun by demons, and we need an advance force to--"

The steward laughed, but there was a sadness in his throat. "You want an advance? From us?"

"Aside from Veldt, you have the strongest military in Aia. The invasion started with Thais, and it can end with Thais."

Rhen gulped. Lars was astonishingly collected, and she was impressed. Maybe he could do this himself. Without her.

"No."

John narrowed his eye. _"No?"_

"We cannot afford to aid you now." The steward returned to his chair. His posture and tone made it evident that he was exhausted, that he didn't _want_ to deal with any of the royal business anymore. "We need our troops here. Foreign business is not our business. Not in these harrowed times."

John's jaw dropped. Lars put a hand on the sailor's arm before he could erupt.

"This isn't going to work, John. We'll figure something out."

Rhen sheathed her sword, glaring at the steward. How could a man sit and do nothing when he knew the world might end without him? They'd given him the facts; they'd explained the gravity of their need.

 _Whatever._ If Lars thought they could find a solution, there was no doubt they could.

 

 

The old minister cleared his throat, his eyes skipping across the page in his hand. He flipped it over and examined the back. Rhen could see numerous paragraphs crossed out.

Finally, he settled on a line.

"Do you, Galahad Teomes of Sedona, take this woman, Te'ijal Ravenfoot, as your wedded wife, to love and cherish, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward?"

Galahad's face grew increasingly disgusted as the minister spoke, but he hid his fist under his white cape and clenched his jaw shut. With his eyes closed, he spoke.

"I do."

 

 

"The apothecary in this dumb town is kind of pathetic."

That was the Lars she was used to. She flashed him a sympathetic smile. "It's no wonder; all the plants around Thais are dead."

"Don't they import stuff?" Lars grumbled. He glanced into his barren herb pouch for the tenth time since they left the shop.

"I guess not recently."

"Shipments are too easily stolen in the Blasted Lands," said John. "If the bandits don't snatch it up, the coyotes will eat it."

"They eat spell components?" Lars wrinkled his nose.

"They'll eat _anything."_

"Come on," said Rhen; "let's see what else is around here."

Te'ijal and Elini had already peeled off, hand in hand, climbing up the exterior steps to the second level of the ashen building housing the liquor store. Once they reached the top, one of them giggled while the other gasped.

"There is a wedding chapel here!" Elini called down, twisting her torso left and right so the hem of the jacket followed a moment behind.

"And?" Rhen raised her eyebrows.

"Let us go inside, please, _please!"_ cooed Te'ijal.

John sighed. "Must we?"

"Just humor her." Lars shrugged. "That means you, too, Galahad."

There was a clank and a quiet groan some distance behind them as Lars caught Galahad trying to depart without notice.

The chapel wasn't much cozier than any other interior in the city. There were sheer white curtains here and there and a fancy altar near the windows in back, but largely, everything was unadorned. There were two rooms beside the entrance; one labeled "bride", the other, "groom". Dressing rooms, Rhen guessed.

The minister ambled about the back of the chapel. He wore a tuxedo and his hair was impeccable, although he was the only one there and there were no signs of an impending or recent wedding in the room.

"Hello, my friends!" he called when he heard the door open. "Welcome to Grey's Chapel of Love! Can I marry anyone off today?"

Elini laughed. "Oh, I do not think any of us wishes _you_ to _marry_ them, Mister Grey!"

Grey laughed right back. "I get that a lot, young lady! But, in all seriousness: if any of you wish to be wed, this is the best chapel in Thais!"

"This is the only chapel in Thais," John murmured to Rhen.

"I wish to be wed!"

All eyes turned to gawk at Te'ijal.

"Uh... to whom?" dared John.

Te'ijal pushed through the pack to stand inches from Galahad. She dangled her pendant in front of his face, knowing he couldn't snatch it from her hand. "Sir knight, desire you not to reclaim your soul?"

"So I desire," Galahad sighed.

"Well, then!" There was a darkness under Te'ijal's lilt. "Might I propose a deal?"

 

 

There she stood, resplendent in black, dead petals drifting to the carpet at her feet. Smiling as if, for five hundred and twenty nine years, she'd dreamt of no moment but this.

"And do you, Te'ijal Ravenfoot of Ghed'ahre, take this man, Galahad Teomes, for your wedded husband, to love and cherish, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in--" the minister paused, glanced up at the vampire from his paper with his bushy eyebrows raised to the center of his wrinkled forehead "--in... sickness and in health, from this day forward?"

"I do!" she breathed, her voice high through freshly whetted fangs.

 

 

After her excursion with Elini, Rhen brought Galahad a red rose to tuck beside his breastplate at the wedding. It was the only unblemished flower she could find at any florist in the city. He handled the gift as gently as one would cradle an infant. That night, their second at the inn, Galahad didn't sleep, instead sitting in a chair by the window, staring out at the muffled moonlight, rolling the thorned stem back and forth in his bare hand.

 

 

"May the Goddess bless these rings, which you exchange as a sign of your eternal devotion--sir, please remove your gauntlet."

Rhen thought she heard Galahad whimper as he removed his left gauntlet. Te'ijal took his hand with the enthusiasm of a child in a chocolatier and slid her ring onto his scabbed finger. After much beckoning, his shaking hands, one still armored, adorned hers with his ring. Grey smiled.

"By the power vested in me by the great nation of Thais, I now pronounce you... husband and wife."

John, Lars, and Rhen each clapped politely, while Elini jumped from her seat, whooping and cheering. Galahad hung his head and a great shiver ran down his body.

When Elini grew silent, Galahad spoke.

"All right, _serpent spawn."_

Te'ijal stopped exulting and turned back to face him, the toothy grin still plain on her face.

"We had a deal. Release my soul."

The cheshire grin grew wider. _"Release_ it, you say?"

"Immediately."

Te'ijal stepped closer. Her nose was level with his strong chin.

"As you wish... _husband."_

She bit him.

 

 

It wasn't clear what happened next. A shrieking fog pervaded the chapel as the pendant's contents burst forth. Te'ijal's fangs were still sunk deep into Galahad's neck when the fog dispersed; she released him only when his cry abated. He mumbled something incoherent to himself and fainted.

When Te'ijal was visible again, John was at her throat with his rapier. She batted it away. Elini looked torn between laughing and screaming; Lars, still sitting, gaped in shock. The minister chuckled.

Rhen ran to Galahad and knelt on the floor beside him. He was out cold--quite cold, in fact, as the blood began to slow in his veins. She was too horrified even to cry. His death would be slow and painful, but likely not as painful as what awaited him when he woke up.

Lars closed his mouth eventually and stormed through the chapel to face Te'ijal. Rhen admired his bravery, but of course Lars knew she wouldn't harm him. He ripped the empty pendant from her neck and smashed it under his foot.

"How long does it take for you to _learn?"_ he snarled, his brown eyes locked with her crimson.

She frowned. "Have I misjudged?"

 _"You have misjudged!"_ Lars shouted. "You've humiliated this man! You've turned him into the one thing he hates more than anything else in the _world!_ And you're asking whether you've _misjudged?"_

"I--"

"I've given you so many chances, Te'ijal! You've saved my life more than once, and I've done _everything_ to save yours, but your _own damn stupidity_ is what's going to kill you!"

"Lars." Te'ijal's frowning lips were parted and her brow low. "I did not know this would upset you."

"That doesn't _matter."_ Lars shook his head, exasperated. "How do you still not understand this? People aren't your playthings or your set dressing! It's _wrong_ to just... _ruin a life_ like that!"

Rhen swallowed. _And not to act, and let a life be ruined...._

"I know your attitude, all right?" Lars wiped his eyes. "And I know that you can shed it. But I don't think most people will believe you deserve another chance now."

"Do you, Lars?" whispered Te'ijal. Her eyes were wide.

"What?"

"Do you... believe that I deserve another chance?"

Lars turned away.

"I can't answer that right now."

Rhen saw the rage on his face as he stalked from the chapel into the snowy night. He was struggling to hold back his tears.

Elini walked to the altar and linked her arm with Te'ijal's. The vampress offered no resistance as she was led from the chapel, obedient as a blindered mare. John and Rhen were once again responsible for hoisting Galahad askew upon their shoulders and dragging him away. His sabatons squealed when they scraped the stone floor.

The minister brushed off his hands and chuckled. "Another happy marriage story! Take care, you two lovebirds!"

 

 

"John."

Galahad was in bed. John leaned on a building by the river catching snow in his hair. He'd unfastened another button on his loose white shirt. Hauling a fully-armored knight up and down stairs was exhausting, and he was sweaty, and he didn't really like being sweaty.

"Elini. What?"

She leaned against the wall beside him, but she wasn't staring at the river. "I wish to discuss--"

"Ugh, not that again."

"I am more serious than you think!"

"I don't want to marry you. And I'm serious about that."

"I do not understand. You would have an excellent life."

"Listen." He glanced at her. "I already _have_ an excellent life. It's not what _you_ might think of as an excellent life, but I'm happy."

"Why would you deny me this without giving me a chance?"

John scoffed. "Marrying you immediately is giving you a 'chance'? Why are you so desperate for me, anyway?"

She stood before him now, gesturing a little wildly in the navy coat. "Because you are intelligent and kind! These are the qualities of a good husband!"

 _"Kind?_ Look, I'm no Agas the Sadistic, but I wouldn't exactly characterize our interactions as overflowing with kindness. Why--"

John paused and looked her over. All he could see was the navy coat.

"You're kidding."

"I do not know what you are talking about." Elini put her hands into the coat's pockets.

John's voice rose. "And what _kind_ things do your current husbands do for you, hm? Hold the door open for you when you leave your mansion? How noble. Compliment your undergarments before you use their bodies for your own enjoyment? The mark of _true gentlemen!"_

Rhen rounded the corner just in time to see Elini draw a bottle from her pocket and fling it at the wall just beside John's head.

Glowing liquid splattered against the brick, spraying across John's face and into his shocked, open mouth. His eye swirled momentarily with iridescent colors. Absently, he licked the unwelcome potion from his lips, and then gasped and sputtered.

He met Elini's eyes. She was beaming.

"What say you now, Pirate John?"

He stared at her silently, stiller than a frightened beetle on the cobblestone, as the glow of the potion faded from the wall. Rhen willed him to move, to say something, to help her understand what just happened. After a moment, she could've slapped herself for not rushing forward; she ran to him and shook his arm.

"John! Are you all right? What did she do?"

To her surprise, he pushed her gently away.

"Wait." He rubbed his eye. "Just... wait."

Rhen stepped back. She and Elini both watched, wide-eyed, as he rubbed his head and looked around.

"Elini. What... did you _do_ to me?" His voice was high and breathless.

"Oh, my John! Surely you love me now?" She stepped forward, an oddly innocent hopefulness in her smile.

 _"Love_ you?" John stood forward, fury in his eye. "You think this will make me _love_ you?"

Elini was taken aback. "Is that not why it is called a love potion?"

"What the hell do you know of love?!" John shouted. "Do you think you can alter someone's _thoughts?_ Their _mind?_ You think you can _control people?!_ Didn't we _just_ have this conversation in the chapel an hour ago?!"

"I--"

"Do you treat your other husbands like this?! Gods--even with so many husbands, do you actually know what love _is?!"_

Rhen balked. She'd never heard John so infuriated. "John--"

"Rhen, back off. I don't want you involved in this."

"My husbands love me," snapped Elini, but her voice wavered. "And I love them. That is marriage, simple and clear."

"Oh, really?" John's teeth were bared as he spoke. "What do you know about any of them? Where they grew up? Did they _like_ it there? Did they have best friends? Did they have _dreams?"_

Elini was silent, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Do you know them at all, Elini?"

For a minute, all Rhen could hear was the rushing of the river and the coughing of a guard.

"That's what I thought." John pushed past her and strode toward the bridge. "You can make people viscerally feel things against their will, _I guess,_ but you'll never love them. You can keep the jacket, by the way; I don't want it."

Rhen glared at Elini as he left. "Go back to the inn," Rhen said, her voice low, "and don't come back here."

Elini tried to glower back through her tears, but she couldn't. With a sob, she ran away down the road.

Rhen followed John down the bridge and met him where he leaned over the railing. She leaned with him. He gave her the best exhausted smile he could muster, and she returned it.

"Are you all right?"

"No." John sighed. "Definitely not."

"What _did_ she do to you?"

"Love potion. Well, 'love' potion." John made quotation marks with his fingers as he said it the second time. "You can't love someone when your mind isn't in it."

Rhen tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"That stuff makes you attracted to whoever throws it at you. Attraction alone isn't love. It makes you _care,_ too; gives you _emotions._ Bias, jealousy, a protective instinct. But that's not love."

"You can't just... feel it."

"Right. You have to think it, too."

"So you're not going to marry her. Not even going to court her?"

"Absolutely not. She is a reprehensible human being, and I say that even though my gut is screaming that I have to be nice to her."

"Oh." Rhen looked up at the sky. A snowflake landed in her eye. "Ow."

John grinned at her. "Dumbass."

She wiped the snow away, smiling. "But... does it hurt?"

"Stuff landing in your eye? Well, I only experience that about fifty percent of the average--"

"Letting her go."

John swallowed and looked down. He thought for a moment.

"Yeah. It does."

"Will it hurt forever?"

He looked back at her. "Probably."

Rhen sighed. "I'm sorry, John. If I'm honest, I think I could've prevented everything that happened today."

"Seriously?" John looked incredulous. "That's all we needed? The sword singer princess of prophecy?"

"I mean... say that again. Doesn't it have some weight to it?"

John scratched his chin. "Well, I guess."

"I'm not really _leading_ anything, but I could." Rhen looked at her hands. "I _should_ be doing a lot of things I'm not, I think. If I can defeat a legendary demon lord, I'm pretty sure I can stop a vampire from biting someone."

"She didn't bite me; she threw a potion at me."

"And I could probably issue a decree stating that _you're_ not allowed to make any more jokes."

"Oh, but you won't."

"Ugh." Rhen smiled.

John chuckled. He looked relaxed at last, standing on the bridge next to his first mate. She was relieved to see him loosening up. When he ached, she did, too--in her gut and in her head. Rhen was no stranger to family, and this man, her _brother,_ was indisputably family.

"Hey, John?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, vi."

An ambitious colony of bats squeaked overhead as they fluttered over the city. The iceless river continued its run, warmed by the fretting of the waterfall to the north.

"So." John turned to lean his back against the railing. "Let's talk about how weird Te'ijal's hair looked in that dress."

Rhen laughed. "Are you serious? I actually thought it was quite fitting!"

"I mean, the green was already pretty tacky against her skin, but--"

"Wait." Rhen couldn't stop giggling. "The... the _green?"_

"Uh, yeah. Her hair. Green?"

"It's _red!"_

John's face dropped. "Oh... oh."

_"John!"_

"Wh... well, sue me! I'm colorblind!"

Rhen nearly fell to the pavement. "You're _colorblind?_ No _way_ are you colorblind! You--I--my hair--violet--?!"

"That was a lucky guess."

_"What?!"_

"Well... it was either purple or blue, so I had a fifty-fifty shot, you know?" John grinned. "And I _am_ a gambling man."

"Oh. My. Gods." Rhen held her forehead in her hand. "You're a ship captain. And you're _colorblind."_

John raised his hands in mock surrender. "You caught me. Just don't tell the king of Sedona, and we're good."

Rhen stared at the clouds again. A snowflake melted on her forehead, and she chuckled quietly. After a moment, she looked down and unclasped her hip satchel. She dug through the pocket before her fingers found the cool metal ring at the very bottom. She pulled out the ring and, after a second's hesitation, slipped it onto the pinkie of her left hand.

"All right, John," she sighed, feigning a regally exasperated tone. "My first command as Queen Rhen Pendragon of Thais: never captain a ship again."

Something melancholy swept over John's face, but his comical smile remained steadfast. "As you wish, your highness."

Rhen hummed, suddenly serious. "If I show this to the steward... maybe he'll grant us the advance force."

"'Maybe'? You would barely have to go through him. He's just there to pretend to be you."

"'Pretend to be me', eh?" Rhen grinned again.

John grinned back. "My mistake, vi. No one but you could be you."


	29. Reckoning and Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things can be fixed. Some can only be slaughtered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy.
> 
> Content warning for self-harm, gore, violence, reference to alcohol abuse, suicidal ideation. Language warning.

Sedona was quieter than Rhen remembered. Grey snow, likely a day or two old, lined the cobblestone streets, which cracked here and there where melting ice demanded breadth. The clouded sky reflected the drab tone of the snow, but it was mercifully clear of demonic magic. Roofs here and there were in states of disrepair, smashed and burnt by arcane lightning or wicked wisps.

Luckily, no casualties were reported after Ahriman's storm. Rhen couldn't be more grateful that Dameon and the other druids completed their ritual. They'd picked him up from Aveyond on their way west, but he wasn't with her now as she navigated the streets to the merchants' square. She hadn't seen Galahad all day, but John was with her, and to Rhen's surprise, Lars was, too. It seemed seeing Peter was more important to Lars now than doggedly following the underwhelming man of his dreams. Rhen was glad to have him along.

John kicked a loose stone and sighed. "All right; it's cold."

"He admits it!" Rhen snickered. "Lars, I owe you fifty pennies."

"Wh--you were _betting_ on my goosebumps?!"

Lars put his hands on his hips in an exaggerated victory swagger. “Ha-ha- _ha!_ Didn't think you'd last very long."

"Yeah, you've been shivering since training the other morning in Thais."

"Have not!"

"Have so." Lars smirked.

"Fine. But--you could have just bought me a jacket! There were _fifty pennies_ on this?!"

"Not anymore." Rhen pouted. "But at least I'm the one who had the most faith in you."

John pressed his fingers to his forehead.

Lars waved as they neared the square. Rhen scanned the booths with wide eyes, then locked onto the little stall beneath the awning in the northwest corner. Without saying a word, she charged forward and spread her arms. Peter met her with as tight a hug as a hug could be.

"Peter, _look_ at you!" Rhen giggled, nuzzling her face into his apron. "You're a cheese seller and everything!"

Peter grinned and pressed his nose to the top of her head. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here without saving the world first," he murmured.

"Have you married him yet?"

"Of course not. Flowers are out of season right now, and we want all the lavender we can get at the reception."

Rhen and Peter separated as Lars and John reached the booth with smiles they couldn't contain. John wiggled his fingers at Peter and said, "Remember me?"

"Mm. Still haven't grown the second one in, I see."

"I'm just here to let you know there's no need to be ashamed of a smooth chin. Your body is saving it all for that rodent growing atop your head."

"Check and mate."

Rhen tugged on the yellow apron to recapture Peter's attention. "Lars wanted to see you, too."

Peter's expression was mildly serious as he turned to Lars. He stuck out his hand for Lars to shake and nodded as their palms met.

"Cedar."

"Sequoia."

Rhen's brow furrowed. "What?"

"I've been watching over the forest," said Lars. Peter cringed, but it was too late.

 _"What?"_ Rhen clenched her teeth. "Excuse me! _What?!"_

John scratched his head. "Yeah, what?"

Lars swallowed. "Uh, wait--"

"Did you have some sort of secret conversation about how Lars needs to _watch over_ me?" Rhen stepped away from Peter so she could cross her arms and glare at him without craning her neck. "Because I resent that."

Peter glanced from Lars to Rhen, his cheeks flushed. "Well... yes. Oh, you’re... ahaha... you're too sharp."

 _"Seriously,_ Peter? I _wrote_ this stupid language."

He sighed. "Well, it... I mean, I don't doubt you for a minute, Lav."

"Then why would you want Lars to _protect_ me?"

Peter and Lars were silent for a long minute. John cleared his throat. Rhen, her eyes a warning, glared from Peter to Lars to Peter again.

Finally, Lars spoke. "It... it can't... _hurt."_

Rhen's expression softened. She raised her eyes to the sky and sighed.

"No, I guess it can't."

Peter blew out a massive breath. "Oh, Lav. A few months ago, you would've kicked my ass for this."

"Still might."

Peter chuckled.

"Look," said Rhen. "I don't need anyone to protect me. I'm probably the most dangerous person in the world right now." (John covered his mouth and snickered.) "But everything you do for me--either of you, both of you--everything you do makes it all a lot easier."

Lars smiled weakly. "I think that's all we meant."

"Good." She smiled back. "'Sequoia', is it? I like it."

_"Peter! Peter Baker!"_

Peter snapped to attention and looked around the square. He raised his hand and gave it a confounded little wave. "Um, hello! I'm over here!"

After a baffling moment, the booth was approached by a short man with entirely too much mustache and entirely too little chin. His massive leather bag swung back and forth as he walked, and his ruddy cheeks were separated by a glistening white grin. Rhen noted thin, dark gloves on his hands, matching the close-fitting outfit he wore, all shades of black, grey, and brown.

"Peter Baker! I can't express how _excellent_ it is to make your acquaintance!" The man's accent was western, tighter than Rhen's or Peter's. His grin didn't falter as he spoke.

"Yes, hi. That's me." Peter stuck out a hand, which was then shaken vigorously. "And who are you?"

"A friend, a friend! Is the paramour about?"

"Um, no. It's just me today."

"A shame! I was so looking forward to meeting him! Anyway, I'm just here with a gift to welcome you to the neighborhood."

Rhen watched with insatiable curiosity as the man pulled a small potted plant from his bag and set it on a clear spot on the booth's semi-soft cheese table. It was a conifer, and a recognizable one, at that. She'd seen dozens of these in Clearwater alone. The tree was young, only recently matured; it hadn't yet filled out the space allowed by its container. The needles were thin and sharp as blades, and the short branches sported hard berries in the adolescent stage between pale green and deep blue. It smelled of earth, and of pine, and of gin.

"A little reminder of our friendship," piped the man with a wink. "Put it wherever you think it's needed most. Well! I guess it's time I make my exit."

He vanished uncannily into the sparse market square crowd. Peter's slack jaw was dignified by just a hint of a conscious smile.

Lars furrowed his brow. "You know, I think I saw one of those in the window of that new knitwear shop down the street. Same pot and everything."

Rhen and John exchanged a glance.

"Lars?"

Elini walked up to the cheese stall alone, casting her eyes to the ground when she saw John. She wore no jacket; goosebumps were apparent on her arms. Lars winced on her behalf.

"Elini. What is it?"

With her purse dangling from the crook of one elbow, Elini fidgeted with her hands by her chest. "I wish to--um, that is, I am in the market... for a new perfume. And, as Te'ijal is confined--justly confined--to the manor today, as I have taken back the sunscreen and given it to Galahad--"

"The store's packed, but I'm not selling much cheese, am I?" commented Peter.

"We shall go to the perfume store." Elini took Lars' hand and tugged him away from the fromagerie.

"Uh." Lars looked over his shoulder. "Catch you around... Cedar?"

Peter smiled. "Catch you. Sequoia."

 

 

Lars previously had no idea how many different fragrant flowers there were. Well, he sort of did, but he definitely had no idea how many different combinations you could make with those fragrant flowers. Most of them smelled pretty much the same. About half of them gave him a headache. None of them smelled like real flowers.

He was trying his best to be careful around the hundreds of tiny glass jars on the wrought shelves around the shop when Elini startled him. He gasped through his nose as he bumped into a shelf and watched all of the jars wobble in place. Three dozen scents mingling together on the floor would probably smell terrible and would definitely cost him a lot of money.

 _"Elini!"_ he whispered sharply, as if speaking quietly would prevent the jars from further destabilization. "Can't you just talk to me normally instead of grabbing me from behind?"

That was an exaggeration and he knew it, but Elini looked away sheepishly. "I am sorry."

"Good! What do you want?"

"I think... rose and geranium."

"From _me,_ Elini. What do you want from _me?"_

She sighed. "I want to apologize for something."

Lars lifted his head. She was clearly not talking about the shoulder-tapping. "What is it?"

"I... um... have realized that I perhaps have not been as considerate as I should."

"What are you talking about?" Lars furrowed his brow. "Elini, you... to me, you've been like a...."

She held up a hand. "Do not say it. I have been no such thing to you."

Lars wanted to reach out and take that hand, but he could sense something about her, something that said she wanted to stand on her own.

"That night at the festival, on my birthday--do you remember? I think you do. I knew it was not safe to let you go alone. You were hurting, and I knew what you would do."

"I wasn't...." Lars' voice was quiet; he didn't believe what he was saying even as he said it. "I wasn't alone."

"You were, Lars. I... only I could have stopped you from...." Elini wiped her eyes with a manicured hand. "No one else would know. I was responsible."

Lars shook his head. "I'm responsible for myself. I told myself not to do it, and I did it anyway."

That wasn't enough for Elini. She stared at the ground in uncharacteristic silence. Lars decided it was a good time to hold her.

"Rhen told me about--um, what happened last night," he said. She pressed her face hard into his shoulder. "Look, it's something you have to confront, but you don't need to deal with more than one thing at a time, okay? We can take it one thing at a time."

"My husbands..." she murmured. "John. Galahad, and you. There are too many people. I did not understand what that meant. _People."_

"Don't blame yourself for what happened to Galahad," Lars chided.

"John, then. And my husbands. You cannot say I did not hurt them."

"Then you can fix those things. _One at a time."_ Lars stroked her hair, a bit awkwardly because he was only an inch taller than her. "But you know what comes first for _all_ of us?"

"Hm?"

"Saving the world."

He felt her crack a smile. "That is true."

"Come on. Buy your rose-geranium and let's get out of here before you break something."

 

 

Peter locked up the shop for an hour and took Rhen and John on a walk. The weather wasn't ideal for walking, but Rhen just wanted to be near Peter for as long as she could.

"That's a nice ring, Lav," Peter said as they neared the city gates.

Rhen smiled sadly. "Guess I'm no Clearwater girl anymore."

"I'm no Clearwater boy." Peter smiled back. "But I don't think that's why you're sad."

She looked away. For a second, she opened her mouth to respond, but she couldn't. A horse snorted and pawed the street behind them.

"So, John. What about you? What are your plans after all this?"

John raised his eyebrows at Peter. "Well, it's always been my hope to live to see my twenty-ninth birthday. I'm terribly close, you know."

"What about thirty?"

"The great thing about turning twenty-nine is that you keep turning twenty-nine for the rest of your life."

"Ahh, that makes perfect sense. Now what's the real answer?"

"Oh, you know. Slaying sea monsters, rescuing maidens, sailing into uncharted territory. Waving my sword about and possibly hitting things with it. The exhilarating, badass norm."

Peter pushed John's arm. "You're not a badass, John. You're just an ass."

"Is that why I don't get a cool tree nickname?"

"If you don't want to answer my question, that's fine. You can just say so."

John groaned. "You kids are so insistent. I don't _know_ what I'm gonna do, okay? I... in all honesty, I'm probably gonna hang up the old steel toothpick and reacquaint my boots with this thing they call 'the ground.' And I don't know if that'll be easy for me."

Peter hummed thoughtfully. "I guess it wouldn't be."

"I'll need something to keep my head screwed on straight, but... well, maybe you've both figured this out by now; I didn't... have a whole lot going for me before I met vi." John sighed, running his fingers over the farmers' picket fence as they left the gates behind. "If you took me away from the wheel or the rigging, I mostly just alienated people and broke things."

"I don't believe that," Rhen said softly.

"Why not, exactly?"

"You've taught me _so much!"_ she asserted, her voice finally returning. "For the gods' sake, John, _I_ could captain a ship with all you've taught me! And I know more about the world and how it fits together than I ever could if I just sat in my room reading books written by far-off men I couldn't see!"

"I have to agree with that," said Peter.

John closed his eye and smiled. "Playing teacher has been pretty fulfilling for me, too."

Peter punched his arm with force this time. "Maybe you're not just playing."

"Ow. Detention."

Rhen's sight drifted off to the barren trees, dull like tarnished silver, their leaves carpeting the ground. There were no orcs this close to the city anymore, either because they were afraid of the demons or because the city's defenses had tripled in the threat of the storm. Oddly, though, she spotted a tall, hulking figure wandering along the treeline, entirely cloaked in brown. Perhaps the figure could be one of the guild thieves; the cloak was reminiscent of those she’d seen in the guild’s lair. Whoever they were, they didn't seem hostile, especially because they spotted her as well and beckoned her before moving closer. Curious, Rhen couldn't peel her eyes away. She squeezed Peter's hand before wandering off the path.

They stopped in the shadow of a tree a fair distance from the path and from the city walls, and Rhen had to close the distance herself. After a series of cautious glances, the figure drew back their massive hood.

Rhen rolled her eyes. _"Galahad?"_

He held a finger to his mouth to hush her.

"You know you don't need a huge cloak if you're wearing sunscreen?" Rhen reminded him. "Oh, I hope you didn't already lose Elini's sunscreen."

He took her by the arm and led her into the forest.

"Why are you _doing_ this? You seem quite ridiculous and rather melodramatic, you know, which I suppose isn't _terribly_ off-brand for you--"

"I do not want any of the city guard to see me," Galahad hissed when they were safely concealed in the thin outer woods. "I will not enter Sedona."

"Why not?"

He fixed his glare on her, and she immediately knew the answer to her foolish question.

"I am a vampire," he said. "I am a danger to her people, and to spare her, I mustn't return."

"Is it that hard to be near humans?"

"It is." His voice caught.

"But... Galahad. I know that's not the only reason you won't go back." Rhen tried to keep her voice gentle. She knew him well enough now, and she wanted him to say it.

He looked down. "They cannot see me like this."

They stood together in the forest for a minute, listening to the empty rustling, the clamorous silence. The cold air stung Rhen's noise as she breathed. She waited for him to be ready. This wasn't the only thing he wanted from her.

"Galahad."

"Yes?"

"Where did you get that cloak?"

His face drew in so far that Rhen was concerned he'd begin to bawl like an infant. Mercifully, he only spoke. "This, I received from the thief lord known to her people as _'Juniper'."_

Rhen's eyebrows shot up. She'd recognized the cloak for certain, but hearing him say it was surreal at best. "You went to visit the thieves' guild?"

"I did. I had need of a... specific service I knew they could provide."

"What _'service'?"_ Rhen tried to contain her laughter.

"Several years ago, the defense was infiltrated by an impostor, a woman who seamlessly pretended to be an established member of the guard." Galahad's tone indicated irritation at the memory. "She possessed a full set of standard-issue guards' armor. Months before she was caught, pieces of armor disappeared every week or so from the barracks, enough to comprise a full set. Our investigation could prove nothing, but the infiltrator had likely connections to the thieves' guild. All suspects and hypotheses regarding the armor theft led to dead ends."

"The thieves' guild stole all that armor?"

"Yes. And we--Sedona--believe they continue to do so, stockpiling everything from sabatons to gorgets in different sizes."

"And _you_ went to purchase some."

Galahad dragged his palms down his face. "I struggle to believe any of this is real."

"I know what you mean." Rhen gave him a sympathetic pat. "But you already have a suit of armor. Why would you need more?"

"I... that... that is why I wanted...." Unable to summon words, he blew air from his mouth. "Will you please come with me?"

Rhen shrugged. "Sure. But how do I know this is really Galahad?"

"I have asked myself that question incessantly since I awoke this morning."

The vampire and the princess hiked north through the woods, pressing wet leaves into the dirt, their hair limp with the scent of decay. Galahad shed the thieves' cloak and handed it to Rhen. He stopped for a minute to fetch the knife from his pack and slash his own grey cape a few inches from the hem. Grim and wordless, he speared the loose fabric on a low branch and wrapped it around the scrawny tree until it was secure but loose enough to flutter in the wind. Rhen was awed by his precision, if a little disturbed. Galahad put his knife away and continued north, his paladin's cloak ragged.

He paused as the trees began to thin and held out a hand to caution Rhen. "Be careful here, and walk only where I walk."

Rhen didn't see the cliff's edge at all until stepping down the first rocky ledge. The slippery leaf cover made the descent treacherous, although it was mercifully shallow for the first ten feet or so. She tried not to lean too much, but as she peered down, she realized she could see and smell the ocean far below, crashing upon jagged, sea-darkened stones.

"Galahad. What are we doing here?"

“I need Sedona to believe that I am dead.”

“How?”

“I would not be the first person to ‘die’ at the bottom of this cliff.”

Underfoot, the leaves and grass fell away. Rhen's boots crunched against coarse, sandy soil. "How far down are we going, exactly?"

Galahad answered her question by stopping a moment later. He set his pack on the ground before removing his gauntlets and laying them gently beside it, careful not to let them slide down the cliff's edge into the water. Facing the ocean, Galahad ran a hand through his short hair. His wedding ring caught on a lock, and both flickered in the dim light, reflecting what little sun they found.

Rhen's hair whipped against her face in the perilous wind as she watched him draw a full plackart from the bag. It was identical to the plackart he wore, bearing the king's crest and engraved with thin lines of teal and gold. Galahad studied one side, then the other, as indifferent as if choosing an onion at the market. His eyes were empty in the strange shadow cast by the clouds. Without shutting them or looking away, Galahad dropped the plackart from his bare hand into the shallows ninety feet below. From so high above, Rhen could barely tell when it hit the first rock.

Once he seemed satisfied with the plackart, Galahad returned to his pack. He removed a greave and a gorget and tossed them into the water. His face was so stoic, so dry, that Rhen had to wonder whether he was still there at all. She heard a loud rustle, a wind picking up behind them, and she dug her feet into the ground.

Finally, Galahad closed his eyes and sighed quietly. He returned to his pack once again and sought his knife. Solemn, he stood staring down the cliffside, gripping the knife in his right hand, the blade cupped in his left. He was as still as a rock buffeted by the sea.

“You may wish to avert your gaze.”

Galahad tapped his fingers against the knife twice before slicing it through his hand from the trembling space between his thumb and forefinger to the veins in his wrist where they met his vambrace. He upturned his arm and let the slow blood drain into the hollow air.

A strangled noise of fear escaped Rhen's throat. "Gala--!"

He shook his head. "This will not kill me."

His blood met the ocean like wine, splashed the rocks like paint, speckled the armor like rust. With horrified fascination, Rhen watched as Galahad's arm slowly sealed itself, flesh binding behind skin.

He lowered his arm, still mending but no longer bleeding. "Thank you, Rhen."

"That was infinitely more disturbing than I expected," she grumbled.

"I apologize. I did warn you."

"Why did you want me here?"

"I..." Galahad faltered. "I have nobody... now."

Rhen inched closer to him, careful not to plunge down the cliff. She put a hand on his pauldron. "Just say it. You know you've got me."

The trees behind them rustled again.

"Next time you want to fake your death, Galahad, you should bring me instead. I've got plenty of practical experience."

Rhen whipped around. "John?!"

John grinned and Peter waved. "Well, we couldn't _not_ follow you to observe your shady meeting with this conspicuous character," pointed out Peter.

"Conspicuous?" grumbled Galahad.

"Guys... we were doing something pretty serious over here," said Rhen.

"Oh, yeah." John strolled to stand by Galahad. "On a _pretty serious_ note, then: you don't have nobody. Okay? You have us."

"Right to the chase." Peter took Rhen's hand and hopped down the rocks to join them. "Maybe it's best Sedona doesn't know, but you have friends _everywhere,_ all right?"

"We want you exactly as you are," said Rhen.

Galahad stood in silence before nodding once. "I understand."

Rhen smiled. "I think that's the best response we could possibly get."

"Please don't fall off any cliffs, Galahad," said Peter.

"I will make an effort."

 

 

In theory, the sun was going down. No one could see it, but it was about the right time.

Elini was still out and Lars had no idea where Rhen, John, and Galahad were. Te'ijal was housebound, so she'd decided it was the perfect opportunity to wash everyone's laundry. It wasn't her idea of atonement--probably--but Lars was grateful that she made this gesture to reestablish her... well... "humanity" wasn't quite the right word.

So Lars and Te'ijal were in the manor. Lars, Te'ijal, and Dameon.

Te'ijal was stringing up laundry to dry by the rafters upstairs, and Dameon, who was optimistic about the timely return of their four absent companions, had begun cooking dinner. Lars joined him, of course. Cooking was creative and spontaneous--effectively the same as magic. Dameon drove him wild lately, but Lars decided there was no way he could let that get in the way of his life.

(A life which could easily end the next day, but Lars _wasn't_ thinking about that; he intended to enjoy every minute he had left.)

He couldn't chop vegetables with any sort of precision, so Dameon was in charge of that while Lars babysat the risotto. Over the course of his collaboration with Rhen, Lars learned how to weave a little music into the air; an invisible orchestra swirled over their heads, playing something relaxed in a major key. Lars bobbed a little while he stirred the rice, swallowing his pulse whenever he heard a deep hum from Dameon's direction.

Lars didn't look at Dameon when he spoke. "Not a bad way to spend your last night before oblivion, huh?" he joked.

"Ah...."

He didn't get any more from Dameon, so he kept talking. "We've got a small feast here, some nice music, and some friends and a couple of cats to eat with, you know? And I actually think the candlelight is a little brighter when the weather is this bad." He laughed. "And this. This is really fun."

Dameon chuckled quietly. "Yeah. Maybe I've forgotten a little bit. How to have fun. You know?"

Lars, who had only recently learned how to have fun at all, could only chuckle in kind.

"All right, vegetables are all chopped and seasoned," said Dameon. "I was going to saute them with the shrimp; can you get a--"

"No no no, I have an idea." Lars fetched a saute pan anyway and held onto it himself. "Gimme that. Shrimp, too."

Dameon raised his eyebrows but slid the ingredients into Lars' pan as requested. With one hand, Lars opened the rightmost cabinet and took down a bottle of brandy. He scooped a pat of butter and a smashed clove of garlic into the pan and put it on the heat.

"Are you cooking with that?" asked Dameon, pointing at the brandy while he stirred the risotto.

"Yeah."

"Huh." Dameon smiled a little. "And you're... you're all right with that."

Lars rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Look, I'm fine. I’ve got this."

Dameon looked back to his pan, the smile persisting.

After a minute, the shrimp in Lars' pan were pink on both sides. He uncorked the brandy with his teeth and splashed a respectable amount into the pan. Once the cork was back where it belonged, Lars snapped the fingers of his free hand, summoning a small flame, and flicked it toward the pan. The alcohol ignited, burning bright blue around the vegetables. He was grinning without his knowledge as he tossed the pan a couple times to sear the ingredients on all sides. He didn't notice Dameon's neglected risotto, or the tiny _o_ between Dameon's lips, or the red on Dameon's cheeks, which was probably just due to the heat anyway.

Lars extinguished the flame and removed the pan from the heat. "Do you think the oven roast is done yet?"

Dameon was intent on his risotto.

Lars rolled his eyes again. "Well, get out of the _way;_ I need to check it."

"Oh--oh, no, it's fine; I'll take care of it."

"Well, that means I have nothing to _do."_ Lars crossed his arms as he backed away from the range. He glanced around the kitchen. "Oh, I forgot...."

Lars grabbed the brandy and put it back in the cabinet. He was restless; the charmed music met his mood. He'd never done anything like this--taking care of small things, cooking dinner for the people he loved, being _normal--_ and he didn't want it to stop, and he was so afraid of what could happen the next day. He couldn't repress it if he sat still. The Oracle told him it would be over, but she didn't say _how_ it would end, whether they would kill Ahriman, whether he would survive, whether his friends would survive. Where they would go next. What would live, and what would end.

He swallowed. "Oh, the--the flowers need to be watered...."

Lars strode across the room. He _really_ liked these flowers, although he couldn't pinpoint exactly why. They were gorgeous with all of their layered petals. He had a pot of pinks, a pot of whites, and a pot of reds; the reds were his favorite. Lars crouched by the flowers and held his hand over the reds. His fingers grew dewy, and then steady, large droplets of water rained over the carnations, splashing into the dirt below.

He heard the scrape of a careless pan dragged over a burner. He turned his head to see Dameon, his body turned away from the stove, staring over at him, flushed from his face to his neck.

Focusing on his flowers so he wouldn't lose the control he'd struggled to maintain, Lars said, "If you burn the rice on the bottom of that pan, I'll never forgive you."

 

 

He dreamed of the sun.

 

 

She dreamed of the sea.

 

 

"John."

She wasn't dreaming anymore. She felt her feet on the lacquered wooden floor, cold and dry, a draft between her toes. She pushed open his door, which wasn't locked or even closed all the way. It was dark, but he was awake.

"What's up?"

His eye was wide, bright, almost frightening in the absolute shadow of his small room. He sat on the edge of his bed, his hands in his lap. He wore loose drawstring pants, but he slept without a shirt; fortunately, Rhen was used to this after weeks of resting in adjacent hammocks. Her nightgown swished as she walked to him.

"Woke up too early." Rhen shivered. "You too?"

"Yeah. Bad dreams?"

"Mm... not really." She sat next to him. "I was floating in the ocean, and I just let her take me. Wherever she wanted. But I thought, well, I guess that's over now. And then I woke up."

Concerned, John studied her. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, vi."

Rhen twisted the ring on her finger. "Sometimes I think about it, you know, _too_ much. And I think, maybe it would be better if I don't... come out of the battle with Ahriman. If I just...."

She made a downward gesture with one hand. John caught it in midair and clasped it.

"Don't talk like that."

"I can't be queen."

"You can and will do anything you choose to do," said John, his voice firm. Rhen looked down at her knees and they sat in silence.

Eventually, Rhen said, "That's me. Why are you up?"

"Oh." John shook his head, running hand through his hair. "Bad dreams."

"What kind?"

"I... just..." John muttered, almost to himself. His gaze turned dark and distant. "I was... alone."

"Alone where?"

"It doesn't really matter. You couldn't save the world, and then you were gone."

Rhen's mouth hung ajar. "What do you mean?"

"I couldn't help you!" John was struggling not to raise his voice. "I was useless, like I've always been, and then I was alone. Like I've always been."

 _"Useless?"_ Rhen snapped. "You think yourself _useless?_ Do you really have no idea what you've done for me, after all this time?"

"All I've done is crash a few boats and get us arrested."

"No. You've saved me. You've turned me into myself."

John looked up, skeptical. "That's one hell of a meaningless platitude."

Rhen groaned. "Fine! What have you done for me? You've introduced me to something I love, and you've taught me everything I know about it. You've recognized my passion and stoked it. You've been the dearest comfort, in a way no other person could ever achieve, through the most horrible time of my life. You've made _damn_ sure I had everything I ever needed to achieve my goals. You've sacrificed everything you had to stay with me even when a simple voyage home turned into armageddon. You made a promise, and beyond all rationality, you've kept it. _You shared yourself with me."_

"Is..." John swallowed. "Is that really true?"

"Without you, John, I would be _nowhere near_ where I am right now. Where _we_ are."

His chin wavered and he bit his lips together, but his eye was narrowed and Rhen knew she wouldn't see a single tear. She scratched her neck, digging her nails in behind her ear while he contemplated.

"Thank you," she said. "I don't think I've said this enough. Thank you so much."

John expelled a long breath. "You know, vi... I would do it again. All of it."

"I know you would. _That's_ what you've done for me."

They sat for a while, John leaning against the pillows by the wall. He fell back asleep before the sun rose, so Rhen covered him with a blanket and tip-toed back to her own room. She didn't sleep. She counted the minutes, staring at her sheathed sword by the dresser as the sky through the curtains grew lighter. After fifty minutes, she rose and walked, one second to one footstep, to the bath. She drew it herself; two minutes. She sat inside and watched how the water spilled from the signet on her ring. Ten minutes. She washed her hair.

Lars said it had to be today. She hoped the Thaisian advance met success on the southern isle. Oh, there were so many ways they could fail. She trembled in the heated water.

She lost track of time. The muted sunlight ventured into the bathroom. She snuffed the candles.

She left the bath and wrapped herself in a freshly-washed towel. She returned to her room and pondered the few outfits in her dresser. Sword-singer armor, Veldti buccaneer garb. A loose white shirt, a brown vest, and black trousers. A red scarf.

 _Where did_ that _come from?_

She knew which outfit afforded her the greatest protection. She also knew in which outfit she felt most comfortable. Fortification wouldn't aid her in the swinging of a sword. She dressed. The scarf smelled of Peter.

Two hours, perhaps. Rhen walked back to John's room, her boots in her hand. She knocked gently on the door she'd closed earlier.

"Who is it?"

"Me again."

"Come in. I just got dressed."

Rhen shut the door behind her. He was sitting on his bed again, this time in a white shirt and a red jacket.

"Saved yours, too?" Rhen smiled with half her face.

"I couldn't let it go."

They stood and locked eyes for a minute. Rhen's hair dripped down her back, still straight and rather long now, reaching near her shoulderblades when laden with water. She rubbed one foot against the other calf. John cleared his throat. They hadn’t dressed up for a Halloween party; in twenty-four hours, they might be dead. One, the other, or both. Rhen couldn't imagine a world without John.

They had the same idea at the same time, it seemed, as Rhen drew her mother's hairband from her pocket and John nodded her over. She handed it to him and knelt by the bed, facing the empty wardrobe across the room, and John gathered her hair from her shoulders. He began to weave.

"You are strong," he said as he combed a stray lock into the plait.

"You are strong," he said again as he pulled the tresses tighter.

"You are the strongest person I've ever met, violet," he murmured as he wrapped the tie around the braid's end.

 

 

Deep enough into the caves, they could no longer hear the sounds of combat in the desert outside, Bertha roaring and swords clashing, Thaisian against hellfire-forged. Instead, the eerie echoes of far-off imps rang in Rhen's ears. They were hiding from her.

She knew once she opened the sealed passage to the extradimensional halls of Ahriman's lair that the fiends within would not be so timid. When the last fiber of Galahad's cape fluttered through the portal, the wall sealed shut as if no portal had ever existed. Rhen looked behind and swallowed; the druids' ritual and all their allies would be of no use against whatever they were about to face.

"What should we do?" whispered Lars. Rhen shivered inside her skin.

"Right... um...."

She looked at each of her companions, and each one looked back at her. This was her job. The sword at her back and the ring on her finger made it so. Even Galahad wouldn't dare command here.

"Well. There are seven of us, I suppose. Rather... yes, there _are_ seven of us." Rhen glanced back at the reflective tiled hallways behind her, as yet unoccupied by dark warriors or gargantuan monsters. They were narrow hallways, actually--nowhere near wide enough to contain a gargantuan monster or more than two, possibly three, people abreast. "I don't think we'll be effective fighting through these hallways seven at a time, though, so we'll have to split up. Um... I can lead one team, and... who feels confident leading the other?"

Rhen was surprised when Dameon raised a hand. "My light magic should be effective in combat against the monsters in here, and I'm the most knowledgeable about what we're up against."

"Wow! I mean, excellent, that sounds like a good idea. I'll take John and Galahad, and I think Te'ijal and Elini fight well together, so they should go with you."

Lars' lips thinned. "And...?"

"Lars--!" Rhen winced. "No offense, you know--it's not like I forgot you, you're just--"

"--an excellent candidate for floating between groups," Dameon suggested. "Especially since you're so proficient in healing magic yourself."

"Yes!" Rhen grinned weakly. "You work well with all of us."

"If you say so." The ghost of an eye-roll and a scowl were audible in Lars' tone, but he was much too afraid to care. They all were.

"Should we split between hallways?" Te'ijal asked.

"Oh... no, I think we should try to stick together if we can." Rhen bit her lip. Her plan suddenly made little sense.

"We can divide and conquer," said Elini. "If we are agile, the scouting group can move to the end of a pack, leaving the front half of their force behind for the rear guard."

"That is an excellent tactic," agreed Galahad.

Rhen nodded. "That's smart, Elini. I think you and Te'ijal would be best at that. Dameon, would you take the front, please?"

"Consider it done."

"Then..." Rhen glanced at John, who gave her an encouraging look. "Then it's set. Let's move."

Dameon led Te'ijal and Elini ahead through the shallow, windowless hall. There were no shadows here in which the scouting party could hide; they were only obscured around corners or behind one another. Rhen was surprised by the confidence with which Dameon carried himself forward. He must have known muscle tone and curative light alone couldn't propel him through a fight against the personal minions of Ahriman himself.

The silence was broken. A deep thrumming sound pulsed from the hall ahead, and with a noise like a winded cat, Te'ijal was thrown from her feet into the wall behind her by a beam of pure force.

Lars shouted wordlessly and swung his staff from his back into action, immediately casting a shield to block further magic from harming Te'ijal. Dameon and Elini covered the hall ahead, blasting and whipping at a sylph with dark blue coloration and a strange aura about her body. Rhen and her retinue charged ahead to back up the scouts.

A thick layer of blood streaked the tile where Te'ijal slid down the wall. There was a hole the size of a saucer through the flesh below her chest. Lars watched in horror as her ribs, sheared through like butter, slowly reconstituted themselves, and as thin ropes of tissue wove together to form pallid organs.

Te'ijal chuckled and wheezed through lungs not yet constructed. "I suppose they hit hard, then."

"You're _laughing_ about this?!" Lars crouched beside her, scraping the dregs of his mind for any spell that would heal the body of a vampire.

"Oh, I--" she coughed up blood "--I am fine, Lars. Look; it just missed my heart." To Lars' distress, she reached a hand into the hole and pointed up at the spot where her heart still beat behind her sternum.

"I can't think--I can't think of anything that would heal you; oh, _gods,_ you should know better than to jump into things like this--"

"Living blood." Te'ijal closed her eyes. "That is all that can heal me. I should be better on my own in a few hours, if nothing returns to kill me."

"Te'ijal." Lars sat beside her, his robes splayed on the tile. He still couldn't think, and maybe that was a good thing in battle, and if he'd thought at all, he wouldn't have bared his wrist and held it to her face.

She glanced up at him. "No, Lars. I will hurt no one else."

He glared at her. "Do it. It's just like whatever you did with Elini, right?"

"I require a much larger quantity of blood to heal a wound like this."

"Then take it!" Lars insisted. "I'm giving it to you!"

"I do _not_ want to hurt you, Lars!"

_"Then don't!"_

They sat there for a minute, Te'ijal staring up at Lars, her torso pale and empty, his wrist at her face. His teeth were bared and his eyes closed. Goddess, would it ever hurt; but losing her would hurt more.

With gentle hands, she drew his wrist forward and bit.

The pain was somewhat more bearable than the sensation of his blood rushing faster than it should to exit his body. A small whine escaped Lars' gritted teeth, but he didn't open his eyes; he knew he would lose his cool, rip away, vomit. He felt the tremors as they came on slowly. But this was fine. It was all _fine._ He couldn't heal her, but he could heal himself. If he was still conscious by the end.

By the grace of some divine power, he was. She dropped him, gasping, her eyes dark and narrowed, and he summoned as much power as he could through his swimming vision and wobbling nerves while her chest stitched itself together at a fascinating rate. Lars was barely able to draw the frailty from his body, but he did it, opening himself like a door into fresh light and vitality. He was still weak, still exhausted, but he knew he could stand.

He heard Rhen's death blow down the hall. Someone high-fived someone else. Breathless, John ran back to get them just as Te'ijal helped Lars to his feet, both of them whole.

"Oh, good. We took care of it. Was hoping I wouldn't have to say 'we avenged you,' so thanks for being alive. There's a spare shirt in my bag, by the way, Te'ijal."

Both parties knew what to expect in the halls ahead, and new tactics made old threats less dangerous. They found that the tiles didn't quite absorb the sylphs' force beams, and that, with proper angling, some of the force could be reflected back to harm the sylphs themselves. The wyverns were difficult to fight as they were wide enough to block the hallway, but John climbed up onto their necks and, by stabbing through their throats, kept them from casting spells until their eventual defeat. Lars was back at full power after one _aquifolium extora,_ and he danced between the parties, light on his feet with skill he'd acquired from his training with Rhen.

Her face matched stern Galahad's as she swung and slashed and sang, her brow low, her jaw tight. The songs she sang were dark and deep, even in her mezzo-soprano. Most of their adversaries fell to her magic. John stood farther from her than he ever had, his expression grim, and when he looked at her, concern flashed through his eye.

She _had_ to be like this. If she wasn't serious, the world would end. That was her lot.

The last hall wasn't much different from the others; little fanfare preceded the gate into Ahriman's sanctum. The only differences were the arched doorway and the chilling wind blowing through. Rhen wanted so badly to hold John's hand, but she had to remain alert, her fists severe around the fraying grip of the Sword of Shadows. They walked through the arch together.

Galahad was close behind her, then Elini. Te'ijal, in John's spare white shirt, kept her bow drawn. Lars' hands were shaking too much to carry his staff, so he slung it back between his shoulderblades and prayed he wouldn't need to use it too soon. He made for the threshold of the sanctum.

"Wait."

Lars' throat nearly closed as his breath caught in his chest. Dameon stood against the wall beside the archway, still inside the hall. He curled his fingers around Lars' sleeve. There was something so sad, so terrified in his expression that it nearly looked blank, his skin smooth save the wrinkles barely visible beside his eyes. He looked like a man who'd given up.

"What's wrong?" Lars asked, his voice soft.  _You must be terrified. You've given yourself up to protect the world. For once, please talk to me._

"I just...." Dameon shut his mouth and exhaled. He bowed his head, letting his hair fall to shade his face. "I can't... can't do this anymore, I can't lie to you...."

Lars stepped closer, abandoning the restraint that told him _Dameon is an ally, not a lover,_ and tried to catch Dameon's gaze, which was cast at the floor. "Dameon, look at me," he murmured.

Dameon looked up, almost despite himself, his head still bowed.

"If you've lied to me..." Lars winced, not relishing the thought. "If you have, you can tell me. You can fix it."

"No, I... no, you don't understand--"

"Shh."

Lars had never seen Dameon so distraught before. His hand found itself at Dameon's cheek, cupping it with the gentlest fingers, stroking it slowly with his thumb. It was gone as suddenly as it arrived--Lars didn't mean for this to happen; he couldn't stand so close to the sun. But they were so close.

"You've been so much to me," whispered Dameon. Lars' heart was hammering in his mouth.

"Dameon... I don't know what you've lied about--" _or when we stepped so near that our noses are almost touching and I can feel your pulse like it's my own_ "--but it doesn't change... anything; it doesn't change how I... you... you can always... change...."

His hair brushed Dameon's forehead. His mind was gone.

"Lars."

When Dameon kissed him, Lars knew what it was like to be a cloud, soft touching soft, lighter than any man and full of mist and ready to float only at the whim of the wind, and Dameon was the wind. Dameon. Dameon was restrained at first, maybe even shy, although he was _so good,_ his lips as full and perfect as the first time they'd graced Lars'--but when he locked in, he pressed and kissed Lars again and again, drawing Lars closer with his arms and gripping Lars' hair in his open hand, somehow still gentle in his mortal desperation.

But they couldn't kiss for long. The apocalypse was to be decided fifty feet behind them, and it waited impatiently. Dameon pulled away from Lars only an inch, their noses still touching and their mouths ajar, their breaths shallow and their lips hot. Lars' eyes opened and met Dameon's. He felt himself grow hotter still, but he didn't look away.

"Lars," Dameon whispered again, and Lars couldn't lie to himself any longer.

"Dameon." His voice was rough. "I l--"

**_"SLUGS!!!"_ **

Lars nearly jumped out of his skin. Almost involuntarily, he whipped his head to face the threshold. He could see clearly down the dark stone balcony onto which the threshold emptied; Rhen stood with her allies behind her, staring down a man in a dark cloak, his snow-white beard cascading down the fabric like an anemic glacier. The old mage stood behind a magical barrier, impervious to attack.

"Why are we _out_ here?!" Lars breathed to himself before dashing through the archway and running to stand with Rhen. He didn't look behind to make sure Dameon followed.

"You know why we're here," exclaimed Rhen, her voice clear and her face open. She'd had enough of her own nerves. She _was_ there, and it was _real,_ no matter how difficult it was to process. She might as well act like it. Especially since she could be dead within minutes.

"To die, I believe," snarled Ahriman. "Seven slugs... one for each of my children you've slaughtered. Your sacrifice is acceptable, worm."

Over the lifeless emptiness of the elevated wind, Rhen just barely made out the sound of Dameon saying, _"Hah."_

She ignored it and drew her sword from its scabbard with the beautiful sound of ardent metal. "You know what this is, Ahriman?" she called over the wind. "I think you do."

The old man bared his teeth. "You couldn't kill me once, or twice, and now you think you can succeed a third time. How  _precious._ I have my own sleeves, _princess,_ and my own tricks. _Dameon!"_

Alarmed, Rhen lowered her sword and turned to look at Dameon.

One hand covered his eyes, the other clenched into a fist at his side, and his head was bowed, as was his spine. Rhen had never seen him like this before, trembling, held together by ragged silk thread. He lowered his hand and stared at her, stared _past_ her, his eyes like fog. Ahriman snickered.

Dameon looked at her finally, his eyes pleading. He tried to straighten, but he still seemed askew. He opened his mouth and moved his lips as if trying to speak, but he just stood, agape, the tiniest coughs of sound emerging from his throat. Rhen held his gaze with trepidation until he broke it. He looked beside her.

At Lars.

Lars, who was staring at Dameon in anguish as if he'd just solved a puzzle no one but he could crack, a puzzle he held gently on his lips and harshly in his eyes.

"Dameon," braved Lars, "what's going on?"

"Lars, I... I'm so sorry. I...." Dameon spoke as if he was suffocating.

Ahriman sniffed. _"Dameon."_

And in that instant, something snapped in Dameon's face, erasing his despair and replacing it with desperate determination. He dropped his staff and grabbed Lars’ hands.

"Listen to me," Dameon said to Lars, his voice shaking only a little. "Ahriman doesn't mean to destroy the world. He means to make a better one."

Lars' eyes widened. "No... _no."_

"Please--Lars, please listen; it's going to be beautiful, and--different, and compassionate, and perfectly just--"

"Dameon." Lars could barely speak through his sudden tears. He tried to pull away, but Dameon pushed closer. _"No,_ please, no--"

Rhen bared her teeth against her wrath. She slammed Dameon's back with the butt of her sword, and he fell to his knees with a quiet cry.

_"Get your hands off him."_

Dameon ignored her, pulling Lars' hands down with a strong grip. "He's saved a spot for me, Lars, and a spot for--for you. You can come with me; we don’t need her--we can _rule_ together and make everything on Aia _perfect--"_

_"No!"_

Lars wrenched his hands away.

"Dameon, how... how could you _do_ this?”

"How, indeed."

Rhen whirled back to stare at Ahriman, fury in her stance. "What amusement do you glean from _this,_ you--”

"None, in fact, as this _child_ has not completed his true mission."

"What 'true mission'?"

Ahriman narrowed his eyes. "Why... to corrupt _you_ for my throne, of course."

Rhen couldn't stop the shout from escaping her throat. Rage swung her about to face Dameon, who slowly rose to his feet before a petrified Lars.

_”You--!”_

Ahriman laughed behind her, not with mirth but ire. Dark electricity crackled between his hands. “Oh, worry not your pretty little head. This child is mine to punish.”

Wide-eyed, Dameon whispered, _”Father.”_

Rhen didn’t care. A note rose in her throat as she stared down Dameon, growing louder and higher and engulfing her sword in its own dark energy--it took only a second, but it was long enough for Ahriman to dispel his barrier, and long enough for John to leap between Rhen's sword, Ahriman’s spell, and their target. One of John’s hands grabbed Dameon by the side of his robes, plunged into his pocket and withdrew the traveling rune, and the other snatched Dameon's arm and pressed the rune hard into his palm.

Dameon vanished.

John was hit.

“JOHN!”

Rhen’s scream cut through the wind, violent and unrefined. As her sword clattered to the ground, mercifully unsullied by the blood of her brother, its impatient energy shocked the air and hurled Ahriman from his feet. His head slammed into a spire and blood trickled down his pristine beard.

She didn’t see. She didn’t care. She was on her knees.

“John, John, John, _John, John, John John John John please talk to me, please!”_

Galahad crouched beside her, his eyes wide. “Rhen, you _must_ stand!”

_”Shut up!”_

There was nothing regal or delicate about the tears spitting from her eyes or the screech in her voice. He wasn’t moving, and she couldn’t see him breathing, and _bodies don’t_ look _like that when they’re alive, they don’t bend that way;_ he couldn’t be--he mustn’t be--

Ahriman was slowly rising to his feet. Elini assumed a casting stance and stalked to the center of the balcony, and Te’ijal nocked an arrow, hovering close behind. The once heroic assemblage suddenly looked very sparse. Lars glanced at the ground where Dameon stood not a minute earlier, trying to suppress his overwhelming anguish. The abandoned staff, the hallmark of a light mage, lay unharmed on the stone, its crystalline ornament dull. Without thinking, without even praying that it would do them some good in this battle, Lars dipped low and grabbed the staff tightly in his left hand. When he surged to his feet, the crystal was once again aglow with livid light.

“Rhen!” he called. “You _have_ to get up!”

 _”Cassia!"_ she shrieked, rising at last.

Lars blanched. “Dameon had it.”

“Then save him! You’ve got that stupid staff; just _save him before he can’t be saved!”_

Lars swallowed. “I don’t... know... if I c--”

Ahriman's deep laugh echoed against the menacing spires on the edges of the balcony, cutting off Lars’ admission. Startled, Rhen made to snatch her sword from the ground--and suddenly, it was no longer there. It flew past her, tripping her and nearly slicing her face in twain, and found itself in the hand of the demon it was sent to kill.

"The sun priest failed," Ahriman boomed, "so you, princess, will die."


	30. Princess, Prophet, Pirate, Priest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language warning.

The stone against her face was warm. Rhen could almost feel it pulsing. This abominable tower had plundered John’s heart for its own.

Ahriman wielded the Sword of Shadows defensively, holding it close; Rhen could tell he meant above all else to keep the sword from being taken. With his free hand, he blocked a trio of arrows fired from Te’ijal’s bow. Elini struggled to summon the spirit of Aesma, but the spell turned foul and died before it could reach Ahriman, its wispy remnants drifting away on the wind.

Rhen staggered to her feet again, blurry behind a film of tears. Galahad advanced into battle, leaving her alone beside the limp body of her best friend. Another sob snatched the voice from her throat. She couldn’t sing now even if she had the sword.

Swirling orbs of dark magic built before Ahriman, larger and larger, blacker than night at their cores, emanating a sound like that which throbbed in Rhen’s ears whenever the silence was too perfect at night. Te’ijal raised both arms to shield herself, but Galahad and Elini were sucked in closer, their feet scraping against the stony ground. Rhen shut her eyes--she couldn’t watch more of her friends die.

_“Rhen!”_

Her eyes snapped open at Lars’ call. Suddenly, the air itself glowed with a blooming, ethereal light, and Ahriman careened back, shouting wildly. The orbs and the oppressive noise were forced to vanish, leaving Galahad and Elini alive, if a little worse for wear.

Lars had pressed his old staff firm against the ground, and the sun druid’s staff, he'd raised into the air as far as his arm could reach. The light exuding from its crystal, though powerfully bright, was too benign to be blinding. Flitting shapes like butterflies radiated from its center, showering motes of light over the balcony. Ahriman’s cloak sizzled where the motes landed like snow, and he moaned in pain as smoke wafted from his body to the sky.

“Lars,” Rhen gasped, her eyes wide. “When did you learn that spell?”

“I don’t know, but we’re _not_ dying here!”

“I don’t have--”

“Then we’re _getting it back!”_

Ahriman leapt to his feet and thrust the sword forward. _“No! More! Games!”_ he howled. He spun his free arm in a rigid circle and pointed his finger at Rhen.

Freezing pain shrieked through her veins as she was encased in a frozen tomb from toe to head. Her scream of pain died at her lips; her face was pressed into the ice, as were her numbing hands, her arms, her legs, her neck. She was suffocating as she froze, her lungs as purple as her fingers, and she knew then that she was about to die, too.

The ice cracked and shattered, and Rhen collapsed once more onto the stone. She coughed and heaved desperately, never before as grateful for the open air, and pulled herself shakily to her knees. Her fumbling hand slipped on something--wood--a staff, smashed into long, inert pieces. Lars’ staff.

He tossed the sun druid’s scepter from one hand to the other like a shinty ball and twirled it once, glaring at Ahriman. Rhen didn’t have time to watch the despair still wracking Lars’ face, but she did see his hand trembling even through his stunt, and something about that made her stand, snatch the knife from her boot, and pose defensively beside him, once more on her toes.

“Let’s get it back,” she snarled.

Ahriman suffered two more arrows in his side and the wrath of a flaming red demon as he used Rhen’s sword to fend off Galahad’s high-stance attacks. His cloak had nearly burned off his back, and the exposed skin on his face was patchy with red sores, but his movements were still dangerously fluid and agile. Another arrow flew an inch too high as he squatted, held his hand low, and cast a spell that caused the ground to rumble.

“LOOK OUT!” shrieked Rhen. She grabbed Lars in her arms and yanked him out of the way as a pillar of rock burst from the ground where they’d stood. He yelped and stumbled when she let him go, but an instant later, he was sturdy on his feet, conjuring another retributive light.

Towers of stone framed Ahriman from all angles, obscuring him from view and knocking Galahad out of his way. Rhen cursed and slunk low to the ground, humming a poison into her dagger as the light rained down. When Ahriman was in view between the pillars, she hurled the dagger, aiming for his hands--he couldn't cast without them. She missed by a hair and struck his torso instead. He faltered only for a second, but it was long enough for Rhen to see the wince of pain as the poison entered his blood. He raised his sword-arm to block the wound in his side as she darted closer.

Nimble Te’ijal and tough Elini were both still on their feet despite their bruises and bloody lips. Something flashed between them, a resolute and conspiratorial glance. Te’ijal nocked a thin, barbed arrow and drew her bow with a sniper’s precision. She let the arrow fly, and it pierced through Ahriman’s hand--pinning it fast to the flesh beside Rhen’s knife. The noise that Ahriman made, between a growl and a scream, was cut short as Elini’s whip wrapped around his legs and tripped him too quickly for him to react. The Sword of Shadows clattered to the ground before a familiar pair of scuffed black boots.

“Oh, Ahri. You should know not to drop your toys. Someone else might pick them up.”

Rhen’s heart swung like a pendulum between her gut and her throat. Her sword was in his hand, he’d picked it up from the ground, he was holding it.

He was _alive._

_John._

He speared his own rapier through Ahriman’s other hand into his stomach as Galahad, stable on his sabatons, chopped off Ahriman’s feet above the ankles. Ahriman cursed in pain, a loud, defeated sound that threw a hush over the balcony. Then, John looked at Rhen.

When he looked at her, she thought she would collapse; but when he looked at her, she was stronger than all the knights in Sedona. He grinned at her expression.

“Violet.” He stepped on Ahriman’s head, grinding it against the ground, and held the Sword of Shadows out, hilt-first, to Rhen. “I believe this belongs to you.”

She took it. She gripped it tight. She glared down at Ahriman’s helpless body.

“You thought you could break me, didn’t you.”

“Oh, but I did.” Ahriman chuckled, and blood spurted from the wounds in his torso.

Rhen laughed back at him--a bluff at first, but when she did, it felt a little more real.  _Broken?_ But she fought. She  _won._ She didn't know what would've happened to her when it was all over, when she finally had to mourn, but the world _didn't end_ and that was _because of her._  Maybe she was stronger than she believed, after all.

“Well," she scoffed, "you didn’t survive long enough to see me get _really_ angry. Rather pathetic of you, don’t you think?”

“Are you better than a coup-de-grace, _your highness?”_ wheezed Ahriman, still bold, from the ground at her feet.

She rolled her eyes to the sky and bit her lip. “Hmm, let me think… no.”

The Sword of Shadows claimed Ahriman’s head, and his soul, with little ceremony and a gratifying amount of blood.

Rhen sheathed the sword and stared up at John, her heart hammering at surely three times its proper speed. _“How_ are you--”

Then, the ground began to shake and the edges of the balcony crumbled, and Rhen decided it would be better to talk somewhere else. She grabbed John’s hand and they ran for the archway.

Even while dodging fragments of the once-pristine ceiling, Rhen couldn’t suppress her curiosity. A wyvern collapsed under the weight of a brick the size of Galahad, and she hurdled over its head, dragging John behind her. She glanced behind to make sure he was still-still alive. “You were _dead,_ John! Tell me what happened!”

“How should I-- _ungh_ \--know? I was dead!”

“You’re being evasive!” snapped Rhen.

“In _this_ environment? I’d better be!”

Lars laughed, exhilarated in their flight, perhaps a little hysterical. Rhen and John rounded a corner and nearly collided with a sylph. In her haste, Rhen did naught but shove the sylph out of the way. Startled, it stumbled into the path of a jagged falling rock.

“Are you going to tell me or n--”

“Can’t hear you, vi!”

The rumbling deepened and Te’ijal cackled, which was never a good sign, so Rhen put her head down and sprinted for the familiar darkness of Aian night, her hand still clutching John’s. When the mundane desert air finally swelled in her lungs, she let his hand go and immediately tripped over a bump in the dusty ground. She flailed her arms to keep her balance, whacking John in the face as he tried to steady her from behind.

“Ow!” he yelped. “Easy, there! I was hoping to keep that eye.”

She hugged him, finally, with the force of a battering ram, and then broke away quickly to look at him alive on both feet, because she wasn’t certain how much longer she’d have to do that. Te’ijal and Elini dashed from the cave, closely followed by Galahad, who jogged awkwardly in his armor. Lars emerged last, running backwards and casting some spell to ward off the total collapse of the demon caves. When he lowered his hands and turned around to lock eyes with Rhen, the mountain behind him crumpled utterly, ravaged by an inward avalanche of stone.

She didn’t care at that moment. She was absorbed in the bare truth she saw in Lars’ gaze when it flickered from her to John and back, and something in his brow that told her,  _the insubstantial boy you met in the Veniara Isles died on that balcony, too._

“You did it,” she whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear her over the deafening destruction behind him.

He nodded.

 

 

 

             

Queen Rhen Pendragon, the last monarch of the kingdom of Thais, claimed and held her title and throne for approximately ten minutes.

The week leading up to the coronation wasn’t that bad. It was no secret she wouldn’t be sticking around long, so everyone in the royal court was nice to her, especially after she assured them they’d still be gainfully employed once she left. The steward seemed a bit sour, though. One way or another, all of the butlers and maids and whatnot were very excited to have a _princess_ to wait on for the first time in seventeen years. It seemed she was somewhat of a legend in Thais, and she’d apparently fulfilled everyone’s expectations already, so after about a day of the royal treatment, she realized she could relax and be herself. Her ladies-in-waiting in particular were delighted by her embellished anecdotes of nautical capers.

They’d arrived in Thais in a state of disarray, bloodied and ragged, but the palace staff were more than accommodating for the rightful heir of the throne and her cohort. Rhen asked John, Lars, Galahad, and Elini to stay in the palace with her, and they were happy to oblige. After a bit, she felt bad about it and invited Te’ijal to stay, too, under Elini’s supervision. Te’ijal hesitated before accepting.

A week later, they were all clean and fed and about as relaxed as anyone could be after a couple months of trying to keep the world from ending. Rhen was fitted for a dress. Someone dug the crown out of the Pendragon vaults. Arrangements were made for the coronation chapel (Rhen would have happily invited all of Thais to witness the resolution of their seventeen years of torment, but unfortunately, the Royal Alician Safety Code strictly limited the capacity of each building in the city). Invitations were sent north to Talia and Devin, and west, to Ma, Pa, and Peter, and to others here and there; Rhen sought out and pestered the scribe every time a friend or cordial acquaintance came to mind.

They were all out there, watching Rhen in her fancy blue dress as she stepped onto the chancel. She tried to keep her back straight. It was a little weird not to compensate for the weight of a sword or a pack or anything.

The chancellor cleared his throat softly as she walked past him and stepped up to the altar. They’d practiced this, so she knew she wouldn’t screw it up; she had the rhythm down. It was just so strange, so _real,_ when there were other people watching it. Believing it. Believing that she should, could, would be queen.

But they were one minute early. The chapel filled more quickly than expected. Rhen took her place in front of the altar and stared across the pews. The chancellor smiled at her. She smiled back and scratched one leg with her foot beneath her skirts.

Everyone she’d invited had shown up. Even Danny. Even _Marge._ It was… baffling, sometimes, to know how many people... thought of her.

She squinted. _Is that--?_

_There’s no way. Your eyes are playing tricks._

Devin caught her eye then, and he gave her a knowing nod. She knew everyone was staring at her on the chancel because, really, there was nothing else to look at, so she didn’t return that nod, but she did breathe the gentlest sigh of relief.

_“The country was destroyed while I was supposed to watch over it, and I just left. I’ve made my peace with it, but I’m not sure the people could forgive me.”_

_“I don’t think they ever needed to forgive you. Do they need to forgive you for fixing the city and standing up for the disenfranchised? They remember that stuff.”_

_“You think so?”_

_“You don’t have to stick around once you’re done. It’s part of the deal.”_

_“All right. For them... for them, and for you, anything.”_

_“Thank you, fath… um, da--”_

_“You can just call me Devin.”_

The belltower signaled the time--noon, as was tradition--and Rhen nervously gripped the edges of her sleeves, but she didn’t move even though she was sweating at the collar. Her eyes were fixed on a spot in the middle distance, John’s fancy coat and Lars’ new purple dress cloak standing out in her peripheral. Peter was with them, his crisp suit understated as usual. She imagined that the audience was comprised of no one but Johns, Peters, and Larses, with a hefty side of Galahads and a sprinkling of Elinis and Te’ijals. That made it a little easier. She remembered to relax her shoulders.

“Today, we gather to witness the crowning of a new queen, the coronation of the heir apparent, Princess Rhen Talia Pendragon, as she enters with the people of Thais into a covenant sacred under the sun!”

The chancellor’s bellowing voice was no comfort to Rhen, but she felt oddly calm. He was speaking about some other girl, she felt sure of it, but that was all right. Rhen would shoulder the burden for her. She would do what that princess was meant to do.

Something in the audience caught her eye again.

_Stop it, eyes. He’s still stuck in Aveyond, and you should get bifocals._

Oh, right; this was the part where she was to kneel. She did so and bowed her head.

“Do you swear to protect the citizens and kingdom of Thais?”

“I do.” _And the footman comes from stage left with the cushion bearing the crown. Oh, was I loud enough? He told me to project--_

“Then I pronounce you Queen of Thais!”

Rhen felt the chancellor’s bony fingers against her hair as he placed the crown upon her head. The odd golden thing was like nothing she’d ever worn before, a little heavy, inclining her to keep her head bowed there on the chancel. It was as if all the power in Aia suddenly rested upon her brow. How… uncomfortable.

She lifted her head and the chancellor offered her a hand to help her to her feet. He patted her arm before turning to face the crowd.

“Citizens! I bestow upon you _Rhen Pendragon, Queen of Thais!”_

The subsequent cheer echoed in the vaulted ceiling, making two hundred sound like two thousand, and Rhen knew there were at least that many more cheering in the courtyard outside. She couldn’t help but flush as she raised her hand to wave. _Connect with your audience._

Not that they _needed_ to like her much, considering what she was about to do, but it would probably help Devin if they were predisposed to listen to her. _Right?_

_Okay… for this part, I_ really _need to project._

She cleared her throat as forcefully and regally as one can clear one’s throat. John waved his arms and shushed the people around him. The quiet spread like a ripple.

“People of Thais!” she began. _Thank the gods I rehearsed this._ “I am honored beyond measure by the… um… love you’ve shown me already, in the short time I’ve been here.”

More cheering. _People will cheer about anything when you’re the queen, I guess._

“Thank you so much for welcoming me home.” Applause. “As we stand here today in the wake of a calamity through which we’ve struggled and, more importantly, over which we’ve triumphed--” _Was that right? I should’ve had John hold up my notes from the pews._ “--it is my hope to immediately instate changes which will benefit all citizens of Thais as she rebuilds, and which will protect her from future times of crisis.”

_Whew._ Rhen needed a second to breathe after that.

“My first act--”

She squinted again.

“My--my first act as… queen….”

Peter glanced around to follow her gaze. He gasped. That was enough for Rhen.

_“Traitor.”_

A gasp fanned through the pews. Rhen clenched her fists by her sides and lowered her stance--she knew this was unqueenly, but she didn’t care. Dameon blanched and  tried to hide his half-shorn head in the hood of his plain traveler’s cloak, but by now, every soul with a sword had seen him, and they all looked ready to charge.

“Seize him!” shouted Rhen.

Dameon, though fit, wasn’t acrobatic enough to outrun twenty royal guards and ten armed and seasoned battlers. His traveling cloak fell away in the pursuit, revealing plain, tattered trousers and a fraying shirt, the finery of the sun priest nowhere to be found. Marge was the one to catch him and Elini’s whip bound him; Talia and Tailor had the privilege of leading him onto the chancel. No one had to force him to his knees before Rhen; he knelt on his own.

_“Why_ are you here, Dameon?” she snarled. It was all she could do not to spit in his face.

He closed his eyes. “I wanted to see your coronation,” he said.

She laughed through a tight jaw. “You tried to _prevent_ my coronation! You tried to help Ahriman destroy what he couldn’t manage the first time around! Why would you--”

“He _corrupted_ me; he took advantage of my weakness!” Dameon pleaded. “In the demon realm--”

_"My best friend died for you!"_

"But he got better!" called John from the audience, standing on his toes. Galahad cradled his face in his hands.

Dameon flinched. "John... he died to save me?"

_“Enough."_  snapped Rhen. "I’m sick of hearing your damn voice. Someone give me a sword!”

She didn’t care what the crowd thought anymore. Tailor gave Rhen his sword and stepped back with Talia, who looked away but didn’t speak.

“My first act as _queen,”_ Rhen declared, “is to execute this... _man,_ the man who nearly cost us the entirety of Aia and every soul in it.”

She couldn’t look below. The crowd was unanimously hollering for Dameon’s head, but those who’d traveled with him were not so consistent. John was frowning and murmuring something, while Galahad looked away and Elini’s brow drew in. She knew that Talia was weeping, pleading vain, empty words to convince Rhen not to do it, and she thought that if she looked at Lars, she would see him crying, too.

That was not the case. There was a stir in the near pews moments after Rhen’s announcement, and then Lars bounded onto the chancel below her, calling her name.

“Rhen! Rhen.” He was breathless. “Don’t do this. Please, please don’t do this.”

She glared at him. “I don’t care if Ahriman corrupted him first; he tried to corrupt _us.”_

“I know--”

“You can’t still _feel_ something for him!” Rhen scoffed.

_“Who gives a damn?”_ Lars hissed, and Rhen shut her mouth. “What I feel, what you feel, what _anyone_ feels doesn’t _matter!_ Forgiveness and mercy and things like that--they matter. They separate us from demons. _They’re why we’re still here.”_

The sword wavered.

“They’re why _I’m_ still here.”

Silence resounded as two hundred Aians strained to hear what transpired between the queen and her beseecher.

“Did you learn that from Talia?” Rhen asked, struggling to keep the disdain in her voice.

“No.” Lars looked down.

“Ahem.”

Rhen recoiled in shock when she noticed the Oracle herself strolling down the center aisle and tried to remember whether she’d spotted her new guest at all when scanning the audience before the ceremony. Lars’ eyebrows shot into his hair.

“Um… Oracle.” Rhen waved nervously. “What can we do for you?” _This coronation is a disaster._

The Oracle tutted. “Such informality. Everyone else is prostrating.”

Everyone else was, in fact, prostrating, save those who’d spent any length of time listening to her tell bad jokes in the Sun Temple (although Galahad did take a knee regardless). Rhen sighed in frustration and relaxed her sword arm. “Glad you could make it to my coronation.”

“Indeed.” Standing beside Rhen on the chancel, the Oracle scratched her nose. “My altar boy isn’t always easy to track down when he runs. Thank you for so kindly wrapping him up for me.”

The Oracle snapped her fingers, and Elini’s whip was back at her hip. Rhen started, ready to grab Dameon if he made a run for it, but he just knelt where he was, looking up at the Oracle. She smiled down at him.

“An execution, was it?”

“That was my intention,” said Rhen.

“No need, my dear. Wouldn’t want to bloody your nice dress. I believe I can put him to use.”

The Oracle beckoned Dameon forward with a wrinkled finger. When he rose, she spread her arm over his shoulders like a mother would her unruly but beloved child.

“Ah, there is one more thing.”

A glance passed between the Oracle and Lars, and what she called out next, strong and clear, sounded quite as if she and her co-conspirator already knew the answer to her question.

“Is there in this venue any skilled individual both willing and able to take up the mantle and responsibilities of the revered Sun Druid?”

And Lars said, “I will.”

Rhen gaped.

“Lovely.” The Oracle snapped her fingers again.

Lars jumped in surprise as his dress robes were instantly replaced by the traditional robes of the Sun Druid. A tiny bit of his chest was bared, and he blushed a little; it seemed he’d need to develop his pectorals to fill out his new vestments. The staff with which he’d turned the tide of battle on Ahriman’s balcony was once again snug in his hand. Noon sunlight spilling through the stained chapel windows glinted softly on the golden band across his forehead.

Dazzled, Rhen blinked. She couldn’t believe it--but at the same time….

“Lars,” whispered Dameon, wide-eyed.

The Oracle patted her ward on the shoulder. “Well, then! That’s all settled. Thank you, people of Thais! Lars, we’ll see you back at the temple.”

She pressed one finger to Lars’ nose and vanished with Dameon in tow.

Lars looked sheepishly to Rhen, and she looked blankly back. After a moment in which the silence was broken only by the coughing of an old man in the back of the chapel, Rhen turned to face their audience.

“May I present… uh, Lars Tenobor, Aia’s new Druid of the Sun!”

A tremendous ovation rocked the chapel. Lars waved at the crowd with equal parts pomp and cheese. Rhen leaned her head just a bit and whispered to him.

“Was that right?”

“No, actually, it’s ‘Lars de Aramati’ now.” Rhen could practically hear Lars struggling not to roll his eyes. “Can’t believe you missed it. Lovely reception.”

“So it was fine.”

“Yes, it was fine.”

Tailor stepped up unobtrusively to reclaim his sword with a squeeze of Rhen’s hand before he, Talia, and Lars returned to their seats. A relieved smile flit across Rhen’s face. For once, she was glad not to be holding a sword. She’d been standing by the altar for far too long; it was time to finish her job.

“I have one proclamation to make before we leave today,” she began, her voice as confident as she could make it. “My only proclamation, actually.”

The citizens of Thais murmured among one another. _Goddess, I hope they don’t hate me for this._

“It’s come to my awareness that the people of Thais are her greatest strength,” Rhen continued. “The people of Thais know what she needs, and the people of Thais are the ones to propose it, construct it, and carry it all out. The people of Thais don’t need someone young or inexperienced telling them what to do, because they already know what to do.”

The murmuring grew quieter. Thais was reserving judgment. They wanted to hear her.

Rhen drew a shaky breath. “I, um… I don’t believe that I have the experience necessary to be your queen. And I don’t think that a… a system in which leadership can pass to an inexperienced teenager instead of, um, the best living candidate for the job, is a system under which this brilliant, c-conscientious nation deserves to live.”

She cleared her throat. In the pews, Devin rose to his feet and advanced toward the chancel.

“I want to welcome a man you haven’t seen in seventeen years. My, um, my father, Devin Perry-Pendragon.”

Devin winced when she finished saying his name, but behind him, all that could be heard were gasps and awed words murmured through advancing smiles. A few hands began to clap, and slowly, reverent applause washed through the chapel. When Devin turned, it was to face two hundred people who still knew him. Through his freshly-trimmed beard, he smiled, blinking back quiet tears.

Eventually, Rhen realized she had to hold up a hand to stop the applause, so she did. “Thank you. I’ve heard stories about Devin and his sense of fairness and justice, and I wish I could have learned from him firsthand so I could become half the ruler you deserve. I--I want him to speak to you now.”

Relieved that her piece was finished for a little while, Rhen nearly leaned back on the altar before remembering she mustn’t be sacrilegious. Devin, dry-eyed once more, waited for one last wave of applause to diminish before speaking.

“I’ve missed you, Thais.” More applause. “I’ve spent the last seventeen years wondering how I could have been better, how I could have been good enough for you, and then, my daughter came to me with the answer: I could come back.”

_Did_ I _do that?_ Rhen frowned.

“I spent more than a few years as your king,” he continued. “I know Thais well, and I know that she deserves her self-determination. Though my daughter is a wise and luminous young woman, or perhaps because she is, we recognize that her claim to the throne is by blood alone. She has been our symbol of hope for seventeen years, and she has slain the demon which prevented Thais from prosperity, but she has never appointed a council, negotiated a tariff, or drafted a zoning code.”

A chuckle stirred in the crowd, and Rhen blushed.

“I believe that Thais knows herself, and that Thais knows what she needs in a leader,” Devin asserted. “Thais should choose for herself who they know to be the best person for any job. Someone skilled and experienced, and someone who comes from her people, her neighborhoods and communities.”

The murmur returned, louder now, and Rhen could hear the mixture of joy, shock, and anger in the voices below. Unconsciously, she wiped the sweat from her neckline. She knew she shouldn’t expect a perfect two-hundred-for-two-hundred reaction. It would be fine. She trusted Devin in this.

She stepped back up to stand beside him. “Thank you. People of Thais!” Silence. “My first and only proclamation as queen: I appoint this man, Devin Perry-Pendragon, to the temporary station of Electoral Overseer. He will guide Thais through its first elections. A council and a head of state should not be blindly appointed by blood, but chosen by the people who live in their jurisdiction. And, with that proclamation, I hereby step down from my station.”

Devin smiled down at her. She removed her crown, cradled it in her hands, and looked up to smile back.

“It was an honor and a privilege to serve as your queen, Thais.”

She and Devin left the chancel, followed by Lars, Talia, and Tailor. The people of Thais began rising from their seats and speaking among one another. Rhen heard a _revolutionary new path being forged_ here and a _flagrant disrespect of Thaisian traditions_ there, and she sighed. Hopefully one would be enough to temper the other.

Rhen had to return to the palace to pack up her stuff, as did all of her friends. Devin said he wanted to reduce the living quarters of the palace and turn most of it into public service offices--if he got permission from the new elected officials. There wasn’t any pressure, especially because that could be months away, but Rhen wanted to clear out regardless.

She’d worn her traveling boots underneath her voluminous skirts; it wasn’t hard to hide them. Walking was far easier in those than in the strange heeled sandals offered as gifts by the ladies-in-waiting. The _click-clack_ of Elini’s own elegant shoes echoed in the palace halls. Her pinkie finger was curled around Te’ijal’s. Heeled or not, they each towered over Rhen--Te’ijal by more than a foot--but Rhen was used to that.

“I thought there was to be a ball,” Elini grumbled.

“We _just_ had the solstice ball yesterday.” Rhen raised an eyebrow. “If you really want another one, talk to the steward. He’s still in charge of the palace until the election.”

“Rhen!” called a voice from the edge of Rhen’s small posse. It sounded like Danny. Rhen craned her neck in vain.

“Danny?”

Lars and John let him pass through. He looked cute in the Thaisian formalwear he must’ve bought just for the ceremony. “Lavender,” he said, grinning. “Look at you. I really thought you were gonna be queen, but that was smart, what you did. That’s just like you.”

She shook her head. “I just… I can’t believe you came,” she said.

“Of course I did! We shrubs have to stick together.”

“Lavender isn’t a shrub,” grumbled Peter.

“Yes it is,” corrected the dark-haired fromager whose arm snaked across Peter’s back.

“Why do you know _so much?”_

Rhen heard a low, rumbling hum from Galahad behind her. She turned to look up at him, admiring his formal silk cloak. He clapped a gauntlet to her shoulder; his face said he needed to leave.

“I am proud and honored that you have chosen me for your friend, Rhen,” he told her.

She touched the hand on her shoulder and smiled. His frosty eyes held hers for a moment; then, he turned and strode away with purpose, gesturing sharply for Te’ijal to follow. Te’ijal glanced back at Rhen as she left.

Peter’s arms wrapped around Rhen’s waist and he hugged her from behind, making her giggle. “Is this really the time for public displays of affection?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You might’ve died a week ago while you were saving the world,” Lars pointed out.

“I _did_ die, and Lars has a point.” John grinned, and Rhen was suddenly sandwiched between her two dearest friends, her laughter muffled by John’s fancy coat. The affection, it seemed, was contagious, and it didn’t take long before the circle of family, from Elini, Lars, Talia, and Devin, to Ma, Pa, Danny, and Peter’s fiancee, were connected by hands and arms, shoulders and faces, forgiveness and love.

After a lengthy minute, Rhen pushed John and Peter away. “Gosh… I, um, I still have this crown; I have to give it to the steward to keep it safe.”

John scoffed. _“I_ think it would be better to melt it down and sell it.”

Lars scoffed, too. “It would be worth much more in its current state!”

“Since when do _you_ know anything about fencing?”

Rhen shook her head. “He’s terrible at it. We practiced with your sword once--”

“Not that kind of fencing, Lav.” Peter patted her back.

“Ugh, everyone just get out of my way!” Rhen dove through the flock toward the throne room with a good-natured huff.

Lars stared after her. Something wasn’t right. She was sad.

He followed her to meet the steward, leaving John and Peter to debate the merits of dismantling the crown. The druid robes trailed on the ground, and if he was honest with himself--which he was trying to be lately--it was difficult to walk in them without tripping. The circlet felt odd on his head, but sort of stabilizing, like it anchored him from floating off to the stars.

Rhen didn’t speak much with the steward. It looked like just a _“thank you”_ and a _“no, thank_ you.” When she turned around, she nearly collided with Lars.

“Ah!”

“Hi.”

“Why are you following me?”

“Because you’re upset.”

Rhen halted and furrowed her brow. “Why do you say that?”

He shrugged. “I just know.”

“Well… fine. I’m going to get my things.”

That sounded like a _walk with me,_ so Lars walked with her.

“Why are you walking with me?”

“I’m the _sun druid._ I go where I please, thank you very much.”

“I’m just going to pack, you know.” Rhen hiked up her dress to climb the stairs. “Nothing interesting. You could go... talk with Elini, find out what she’s up to after all this. That’s probably interesting.”

“She’s going home to Veldt to spend time with her husbands. She already told me.”

“Oh. Well… what about Talia?”

“She’s going back to the Dreamworld. Duh.”

“Oh.”

They were silent as they ascended to the second floor.

“Well… what about--”

“She and Galahad are making some kind of deal. I think Galahad wants to stay in Thais, too.”

“Whatever.” Rhen sounded frustrated. “I haven’t had time to talk to anyone.”

“You can talk to me.”

“I… yeah. I know.”

Rhen’s bedroom door shut quietly behind her. She grabbed her plainclothes from the closet and withdrew behind the dressing screen. Lars sat on her bed.

“So what’s up?” he asked. _Very eloquent, Lars. Very druidic._

“I think you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” she replied, but she sounded a little worn-down.

“Then there _is_ something, right?”

“I guess.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be queen.”

“I absolutely, positively do _not_ want to be queen.”

“So it’s not that.”

“No.”

Lars hummed contemplatively. “Is it because--”

“No, it isn’t because I really, really wanted to kill your boyfriend.”

“Hmph.” Lars set his jaw and fell back onto the bed. “You _had_ to bring that up. And--hang on, he’s not my--”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

There was a long silence broken only by the rustling of fabric behind the screen. Then,

“It’s all over.”

Lars sat up. “What do you mean?”

“Everything. The voyage, the training, the adventure, the… the….”

“The… company?”

Rhen sighed as she emerged, lacing her vest. “Yeah.”

“We’re all still here, you know.”

“Oh, bullshit.” She shook her head. “There’s no ‘here’. You’re going to Aveyond, and Peter’s going to Sedona, and Elini’s going to Veldt and Galahad’s staying here and… and I don’t even know where John’s going to be, now that I think of it, but the point is, _it’s over.”_

Lars exhaled deeply. She was right. It _was_ over.

“And I get stuck with Dameon,” he murmured.

“Oh, please. You and I both know you’re not as upset about that as you should be.” Rhen slipped her boots back onto her feet.

“That’s a lofty claim. I mean, he’s a _prisoner,_ and I’m… basically the warden, I guess.”

“I figured the Oracle was the warden.”

“Well--maybe, but I’m still--it’s--” _I won’t wield that power over him._

“You love him, Lars.” Rhen turned to stare him in the eye and crossed her arms. “You did before, and you obviously still do.”

Lars shivered. His tongue felt thick. It took him a few seconds to say, “I love him.”

“Good job. Very proud of you.”

“Whatever.”

Rhen marched from the room with her pack and a plain winter coat slung over her shoulder. Lars scrambled to follow. She had a way of making him feel like he was no better than anyone else-- _reminding_ him that he was no better than anyone else--and it was humbling, embarrassing, and a little relieving. Like a clumsy child, he tripped over his robes again, and the bruise on his knee felt gratifying.

“Rhen, I--thanks.”

Lars didn’t see her smile, but he thought he heard it in her voice. “For what?”

He didn’t know. “For everything.”

“Don’t thank me. I needed you; the world needed you.”

_Oh. That’s not what I wanted to hear._

“But… thank you, too.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Lars let go of the railing. “For what?”

“For everything.”

“I…. you know, I’m going to--”

“Miss me?”

Rhen turned and showed him her sadness, showed him that she might never smile in quite the youthful, blissful way she had before. But it was still a smile.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” She turned back around. “Because I’m going to miss you, too.”

Lars stood alone by the bottom of the staircase, watching her walk away, suddenly aware that he wasn’t the only one who was leaving. He let himself beam at her gently, from afar, because it didn’t hurt him to know that, in the end, Rhen got what she always wanted. On the contrary; it made him incomparably happy.

John was wandering the back halls where no one else stood, running his hands over marble busts and gilded snuffboxes. Rhen hoisted her pack further up her shoulder and strode to join him.

“Normally I’d be all for you lifting some bejeweled ornaments, John, but _today?”_ she teased. “Really? Of all days?”

John dropped his hand and grinned a loose and tranquil grin, entirely unlike the hard-edged affectation he normally wore. “Relax, vi. I’m done with the piracy thing. Remember?”

“So hands off!”

“What, I can’t admire expensive goodies anymore?”

“Bah.” Rhen rolled out her neck. “I don’t really care.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“So… what is it you’re going to do now, exactly?” Rhen asked, leaning against the long table in front of them.

“Well… I was talking to Devin the other day, which, by the way, was pretty neat, and he said that he wanted to lead an initiative to rebuild the harbor. You know, I bet that guy is gonna win his own election.”

“Yeah. I was hoping for that, actually.”

“Wily violy. Anyway, I figured I’d stick around and help out with the harbor thing.”

“And after?”

John closed his eye. “I never thought I had any wisdom or knowledge valuable enough to impart until I met you, vi. And Peter. And being your teacher made me feel like I was worth something.”

Rhen linked her arm with his and squeezed it tight. “You’re worth everything.”

“Heh. I dunno about that. But you were both right. I wouldn’t mind setting up here and doing a little--well--teaching on purpose. Set up a classroom somewhere and just… see what I can do for the kids.”

“That’s… that’s fantastic.”

“I hope so.”

Rhen broke her hold on John and hid her sigh as best she could. Her friends were all settled. They had plans, they had ambitions, they had duties. There could be no better ending to their stories. She walked down the hall with John close behind her.

“I’m glad you let Dameon live,” he said, quietly, as to keep the words from echoing too much.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“You stopped yourself before the Oracle showed up,” he pointed out. “Something got through to you.”

She was silent for a minute, contemplative. Eventually, she said, “I’ve never really needed to be forgiven, before....”

“Hey. It happens to all of us sometime.”

Rhen pushed through the door to the dining hall and made for the kitchens. She stopped by the exit, her hand on the doorknob. “John?”

“Mhm?” He stood behind her, hands in his pockets.

“Is this… this ending… everything you’ve ever wanted?”

John shut his eye and chuckled. “I dunno about _everything._ I don’t think anyone ends up with that kind of ending.”

“But you’re happy?”

“Pretty happy.”

Rhen studied him, looking him up and down, cataloging his posture, the way he fidgeted with his hand inside his pocket, the way his hair fell over his ears. He was happy. Thank the Goddess he was finally, finally happy.

She let go of the doorknob and hugged him.

It was trite to focus on the pelagic scent of his coat, which always lingered no matter how thoroughly it was washed, but she did it anyway, taking a deep breath so she could never forget how it mingled with his patchouli musk. He gripped her close and bowed his head to rest his face atop her hair, and the shuddering breath he drew confirmed that he knew why Rhen was leaving through the servants’ door. Rhen nuzzled John’s coat, her loose hair catching on a button, and he pressed his lips to her scalp and shut his eye. Neither shed a tear.

They might’ve stayed that way for an hour if a scullery maid hadn’t bumped into John with a stack of dirty saucepans. Rhen stepped back and let John slip from her arms.

“I am going to see you again, Pirate John.”

“I’ll count on it,” John murmured. “Skip Townsley.”

With a little half-smile and a wavering chin, she opened the back door to the winter wind and stepped outside.

"This is the life I choose," she whispered to herself.

And that was the last Aia saw of Rhen Pendragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it. That's Rhenegade. Lights are up. Popcorn's under the seats. Aaron Walz is playing us out as the credits roll. Just remember to stick around for the stinger.
> 
> After the epilogue, find my "Rhenegade Spinoffs" series. You'll probably want "The Twelve Labors of Dameon Maurva" first.
> 
> That was my baby. I hope you loved it.


	31. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A neverhending story.

It was a forgiving summer in Thais, the sun temperate and kind to the new growth below. John liked to think the new sun druid had something to do with that. After eight months, green life had finally begun to evict the crumpled corpse of Ahriman’s Aia, and her people had no small hand in helping.

John’s little houseboat, mahogany trimmed with black walnut, was moored off the western edge of Prime Minister Devin’s harbor, bobbing gently with the tide. He was pretty sure it was technically seaworthy, but he hadn’t tested that out yet. A slightly larger vessel, hardly a boat at all, floated next door. It was unfinished, but it had room for a respectable party of people and some furniture underneath its cozy awning. Other than a small stack of well-loved reference books atop a plain wooden chair, the structure was empty.

It would be finished. Soon. Goddess willing. John wiped sweat from his forehead with the hand not holding a sanding block. Even in this airy shirt, gruntwork pushed him to his limits. _But at least I’m not tarring down the rope._

He recalled his most recent voyages, particularly the one on the brigantine when it was just him and Rhen. Teaching her to tar down caused him the first real belly-laugh he’d had in… well… probably months. And she was a sport about it eventually, that spirited girl. She laughed.

John turned to face the shore. She laughed again.

"Well, well. If it isn't Pirate John."

A smile twitched its way across John’s face, open and astonished. He blinked twice to make sure she was really there; she was. It was a moment before he could speak.

"I--hey, I'm a teacher now. That's _Mister_ Pirate John."

“Really?” Rhen grinned. “Shouldn’t you be wearing something a little more teacherly? A tie, maybe?”

John sniffed. "Okay, I'll be a teacher _soon._ Just have to finish up my classroom. And, ah, find some students. You cut your hair again?”

“I kind of like it this way.” Absently, Rhen twisted a cropped lock.

“It’s n--wait.” John shook his head. “What are you _doing_ here, vi?"

"Well, when a captain and her crew hate each other very much, they spend a couple of hours tossing blades at one another and then one of them leaves with the kids and the dog."

"You were _mutinied?!"_

"I don't think that's a verb. And yes. Turns out a bunch of seasoned old sailors don't always like taking orders from a seventeen-year-old ex-princess girl."

"Incredible." John chuckled.

"Not really. I didn't have any kids for them to take, so they took the ship instead."

"And you were marooned in Thais, of all places?"

Rhen looked up at the sky as if her memories were stored in the slowly gathering clouds. "Well, no; I was marooned in the isles, and then I took the new ferry back to Thais. Just... look at these docks! Devin did a _tremendous_ job installing them."

"I don't think he actually helped, vi. I did, though, a little bit."

"John the civil servant! Look at you." Her full smile crinkled the skin beneath her eyes, and she suddenly looked much older than she should.

John smiled back and shook his head. His disbelief ran high. _Was_ that him? Was that _her?_ Had the past eight months happened at all? If he dove into the ocean, would he resurface in the real world, shivering in the blue beneath his own gangplank, inadequate and alone?

"So... what did you come to Thais for?" he asked.

"To see you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I need you for something, actually."

"Lay it on me."

Rhen’s smile shifted, a little mischief glinting in her eyes. "Do you think you have one last grand voyage in you before I leave you to squander your days away in early retirement?"

"Are you serious?" John scoffed.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Can't sail a ship with just one person. Two people, sure."

"I thought you asked me never to sail again."

Rhen wagged a finger. "Captain. I told you never to captain again."

"So you did.” John crossed his arms. “Am I to be your first mate, then?"

"We don't have a proper crew. Until then, it's just us; you know the drill."

"So... I'm not a bad luck charm anymore?"

Rhen hummed. "Maybe I'm looking for a little bad luck."

John couldn’t keep his old, devilish grin from reacquainting itself with his face. She was speaking his native language. "Are you chasing storms, then? Hunting monsters? What?"

"Those may happen to be part of the plan, yes." Rhen casually examined her fingernails, but John knew the heartbeat racing in her voice, the sea reflecting in her eyes.

He clucked his tongue. "Shame. Here I thought you came to pick up old man Pirate John because you missed him."

"I did."

_It’s okay, vi. You can keep running._

_I forgive you._

"Are you in, then?"

"Stick with me, violet. I got your back."


End file.
